Song Bird Sacrifice
by Delillium
Summary: Draco's father is dead, his mother is missing and Draco is left with confusion, anger, and a new foster family that happens to be the Weasley's. In a desperate search for the truth and his freedom from Voldemort, Draco picks up some unlikely allies and gains an even more unlikely family.
1. A Free Snitch

**Song Bird Sacrifice **

* * *

_PROLOGUE_

* * *

There was a fever, and it was catching.

It started with fear, caught by Lucius in the heat of things. In the rush and desire for power, in the desperation to continue on the Malfoy legacy. Taking on a mask, taking Narcissa's hand, having a child. Fearful with every move he made, fear turned to anger and anger turned to hate.

There was a fever, and it continued to spread with the hate that bloomed in Draco in response to his father. In response to the suffering, the sadness welling up in his heart and the jealousy of other children's happiness. The hatred in Draco, the suffering, turned to a fever that his mother caught. A fever that could be easily cured with a smile or a laugh.

Watching her husband pick up the key to the liquor cabinet more and more often, watching her son's content expression turn to a frown. Watching the shaky anxiety that ate at her child like a disease. Wondering most nights, if she could save this family.

Wondering if she could cure this fever.

* * *

**CHAPTER 1**

* * *

Draco watched with placid eyes that were bobbing in his sockets from old tears welled up beneath his eyes that left a constant burning in his nostrils. The same thought repeated itself over and over in his head, like a rhythmic torturer.

Could he do it? Could he do it?

He had to do it. Had to do it.

It brought on fear, a tangible pain in his heart that couldn't be described, and a sinking sensation.

It choked him in the middle of class, it made his hand shake so much that he couldn't write with his quill and left illegible markings across parchment after parchment.

This mental torture, which had become normal in Potions, was interrupted one day by the opening of a door and the soft footsteps of Albus Dumbledore.

A rare occurrence, he came down the aisle way in flesh and bone, making his way towards a loyal Severus. Or so Dumbledore would assume.

Draco watched with a feverish haze what was happening before him, shaking and labored breath. Dumbledore looked to him and made a motion with his hand, but all he could hear was a constant buzzing sound.

Draco slowly stood with wide and curious eyes, but realizing how uncharacteristic this may seem and provoke further suspicion, he blinked and attempted to force himself to a calm. But if Dumbledore was wise of his attempts at-...

His heart raced.

No, it'd be a good thing.

His heart stilled in his chest as he re-taught himself to breathe.

If Dumbledore were to find out...it'd be over..it'd finally all be over.

The image of the small bird dead in the vanishing cabinet came to mind.

No more song bird sacrifices.

Draco made his way to Dumbledore's side who lead him out of the room. It was a silent walk to his office, but the curiosity piqued inside of him and it was impossible to follow him in the suspense.

"Why do you need me? What is this?" Draco whispered, his usual harsh tone significantly softer.

Vulnerability noted and in check, Dumbledore looked down to him with soft eyes, though dull and absent of any twinkle that other students may have noted being a characteristic of the old man.

Dumbledore was silent, "It's alright, Draco." Was the only response he gave after what felt like forever.

And what seemed to be such a simple reply brought a certain calm to Draco. Whatever this was...he said it was alright. And though he didn't particularly like Dumbledore, he knew he was a more trustworthy man than his father and he could take his word with something a little heavier than a grain of salt.

His office smelled like strong spice and he brought Draco to an overstuffed red chair sitting opposite of his desk. He sat carefully, no smile evident on his face. Just a dull look of pragmatic guilt and waited for Draco to take the seat offered to him.

"I received a letter this morning." Dumbledore begun, "I'd be happy to give it to you, but let me explain it first."

Draco didn't respond, a tightness in his chest building, just waiting for some keyword to provide release. Something to convince him he wasn't going to be sent off to Azkaban. A burning sensation bloomed from the Dark Mark and a throbbing burst somewhere within his head.

"In order for friendship to thrive, Draco, a form of trust is instilled in each of the persons. A trust that should only be _strengthened_ to keep the friendship alive. To strengthen this trust, it's necessary to do whatever you might could to be helpful. It's because of tightly threaded friendships that I've been notified so early of your father's..._death_, Draco."

Draco's eyes blinked unnaturally.

"My...My father's..._death?_"

"Yes. As well, some news that would've come even later is your mother's current absence. She's gone missing."

"How...When?"

"This morning, and because of how early this news is, I'm unable to tell you how. They're almost positive it was a heart attack. Draco, it's a hefty burden to tell this news, but even a harder bearing to try and accept this. I understand how you must feel. But never feel helpless or lost, you've always got a home at Hogwarts. I'm here to help you, by yourself, this news can be more than just overwhelming."

"...dead?"

Dumbledore blinked.

"Yes. Unfortunately. I am...I am sorry. It's a shock to everyone."

"And missing. You said my mother, that she was..."

"Missing. There's no signs of kidnap. As a current consequence...you'll be staying in our care at Hogwarts for the time being. Though winter break is nearing."

"Where will I go during the break? During the summer? Will I stay here?"

"No...by then the authorities will want a suitable home for you. They've begun to ask your relatives. Your parents...they never left any written form of command who you should belong to in these events."

"I don't need a guardian. I'm seven-" Draco spoke fast, his words as rapid as the wings of a fly.

"Seventeen, yes. And legally, not an adult."

"Professor Snape's my Godfather. It's who my father would've wanted." Draco continued in his trepid ramble.

"Yes, in your father's _words _he was to be appointed as your legal guardian. The Ministry will look into this after going through all your relatives.

Draco stared off nervously.

"Doesn't my say count in _anything_?" The question was more of a plea and a whisper than an actual question.

He looked to Dumbledore.

Then looked down to his hands.

Did he want Snape as a guardian? Or was he following his father's orders again? Even after death?

"With the Ministry, yes. In court, you'll have say. Outside of that, these people will do what they see best until you complain. You see, the process is difficult and arduous. Considering you have no legal godfather or godmother, and no immediate family enlisting to take you, it falls onto the written laws, and the ministry can often be very devoted to these laws. For example-"

Draco's pink-tinged eyes turned from him, staring with shaky breath at his trembling hands. Dumbledore's voice became a distant echo, a buzzing noise like the whispers of an insect.

When he blinked and the buzzing begun to clear, all he heard was, "Draco? Draco, are you alright?"

Draco looked up slowly and Dumbledore cleared his throat, blinking and allowing his eyes to stay shut for a few moments. When he re-opened them, they stared directly into Draco.

"I know you're feeling grief and...confusion perhaps. I'll give you a little while to process this information if you'd like to be alone. I should have an answer as to your new living arrangements very soon, and perhaps that could grant you some feeling of security, Mr. Malfoy,-"

"No. Don't...Not Mr. Malfoy. Mr. Malfoy was my father..." He whispered sullenly as he stood from his seat, eyes glancing from Dumbledore's glasses to the wooden floors.

"...I apologize, Draco."

"...Don't."

Draco turned from the seat and with heavy footsteps, exited the room.

* * *

Draco looked for that spark of gold against the suns intermittent rays that came through the clouds, just a flash of something shiny so he could make his attempt, hopefully just catch the damned thing so the game could end, and go into his dorm to sleep or stare at the ceiling. One of the two. Either way.

Draco held his hand firmly around the wooden neck of his broom, scanning the skies and then gave a glance at Potter who seemed just as lost as he was in the mix of things.

It hardly seemed appropriate.

A dead and missing family. And he was playing a game. People cheering for him. People smiling and laughing. People booing him. People hoping he'd fall off his broom.

It hardly seemed appropriate at all.

His hands were attached like flesh to bone to that broomstick though, holding firmly and legs pressed against the sides, ready to chase after that golden snitch.

Then a flash of something against a greying cloud caught his eye and before he could decipher if it was truly the snitch or trick of his imagination, he was off, at full speed, toward the speeding golden flash of light.

He eyed Potter just before he had the brief chance of either detouring around him for the possibility of avoiding his gaze and therefore attention or he could blatantly right in front of him. To others it'd look cocky.

He chose to fly right past the tip of his nose, his robe brushing across his cheekbones. But he did it for other purposes than just a cheap thrill.

On his tail, as expected, was Potter. Coming up next to him with excellent skill. In his eyesight was the snitch. Draco had his hand out to attempt to catch the snitch, it was too far and Potter was gaining on him, matching his speed.

Draco looked at him with a blank expression and Harry mustered his best glare, then upon realizing his expression wasn't being matched, he settled for a face of confusion.

"Take it."

"Take it?" Potter replied with an incredulous look, "If I...If you let me, Griffydnor wins, you understand the rules of quidditch, don't you?"

Draco lowered his eyebrows and gave a seething, "Yes."

"Have you received a massive brain injury, Malfoy?"

"Have _you_? Take the damned thing, Potter. I just want this match to be over."

"Why're you still chasing after it then?"

"Wouldn't look very good if I blatantly let you have it, would it?"

"...No, I suppose not. Then you're alright with this? Slytherin won't be happy I imagine."

"I don't care, Potter. Take the-"

"How about your father? He won't like to hear you lost."

He was being considerate. Malfoy knew this despite his enemy-ship with this boy he liked to call bastard. With all quarrels aside, Potter was trying to offer a fair competition to him, offer a second, third and forth chance to reconsider his decision.

But the words didn't sit well.

"Take the snitch." His voice was lower now, reserved and defeated, "Just take it."

Potter gave him a long stare, turned to look back at the snitch one last time. Draco's gaze didn't move from his eyes, they were still and reminded Harry of the calm before a storm.

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

He snatched the winged orb in a single reaching grasp, Draco brushing against him for good theatrical measure.

"Harry Potter catches the snitch! Griffyndor wins!"

The sounds rang in Draco ears and with a heavy heart, but lighter with the prospect of the whole affair ending, he begun to descend.

"Never thought I'd say this but...Thanks, Malfoy."

"Bask in your glory, Potter." Draco replied quietly, though the menace was lacking and it came off as almost a playful joke, Harry couldn't help but gain a tiny smile and give just the smallest of a curious eye at the boy.

Draco landed on two feet, swung his broom over his shoulder despite the questioning from his team mates and the empty glares. It was somewhat obvious he hadn't given it his all, and they'd been asking just moments before the game what was _'with the new sulky attitude? Trying to attract more women, Captain?' _Then they all laughed. Malfoy had simply walked away and seeing their captain didn't enjoy the humor, they immediately stopped and put on their straightest faces, scared for their position on the team.

Harry, held by the hands of his team mates who were in an uproar of hysterical happiness, couldn't help but glance just one last time at the boy who'd simply given him the snitch, watching as he made every step.

Draco exited the playing field without a single glance at the boy who lived and without a single word to anyone.

* * *

**REVIEWS are MUCH appreciated. Please and Thank You.**

**Next chapter speeds up quite a bit, just for an FYI.**


	2. An Answer

"Gave it to you? Are you sure we're talking about the same Malfoy here?"

Harry shrugged, "Unless someone's got Malfoy tied up and they've got some polyjuice in their system. Then yeah, talking about the same one."

"Unbelievable. He's must be up to something." Ron replied, "Didn't you ask for a reason?"

"He said he just wanted the match done and over with." Harry shrugged at Ron's searching eyes for some form of mirth in Harry's eyes perhaps, trying to decipher if this was some sort of joke.

"He's up to something. Must be." Ron nodded to support his own argument, looking to Hermione who gave him a doubtful look, "What?"

"Why'd you suppose he _must_ be up to something?

"When have you known Malfoy to do _anything _out of the kindness of his heart?" Ron asked her quickly in defense of his opinion which he treated like supported fact.

"Ron's got a point, Hermione." Harry replied.

"But that's just it. He _didn't _do it out of kindness. It was still for his own benefit. So why must he be up to something? He basically admitted Harry was a better Quidditch player than him because he knew he couldn't catch the snitch with Harry as his competition, or at least he knew it'd be a harder effort than he wanted to exert at the moment, so he gave up. He wanted the match to end for who knows why, point is he _admitted defeat_. And when has Malfoy done _that _when he's up against Harry in Quidditch? He's _always _done his very best when up against Griffyndor."

"But then why did he want the match over with?" Harry asked, "I don't see where this adds up. On the Marauder's Map, after the game, it showed Malfoy in his dorm. What could he be up to in there?"

"_Nothing_. Don't you see?" Hermione closed her book, "Something bad _is_ going on and you're obsessed with Malfoy being the evil mastermind behind it all. If he were stirring something up so awful he'd rather be working on his plans than see you beat in quidditch, he'd be gloating all around the school about it. Something _is _going on. But Malfoy isn't at the center of it. He's a victim of it."

"...Malfoy...a victim?" Ron murmured with a snort, "Hermione, you've gone bonkers."

"And you're too daft to see." Hermione replied roughly.

* * *

**Song Bird Sacrifice **

* * *

**CHAPTER 2**

* * *

"There. Don't you see it?"

"See what? What'm I even looking for?" Ron asked.

"Usually by now he's either glaring or yelling at Crabbe and Goyle. But he's just sitting there."

"So?"

"He looks miserable." Hermione whispered in a factual tone, no sympathy added.

"Good." Ron replied.

"Usually I'd say the same, but whatever brings Malfoy to his knees in quidditch must be terrible." Harry dropped into the conversation suddenly, looked back over to Malfoy just the same.

A flash of his blue eyes met Harry's own, and though Draco attempted to muster up some form of glare, it just wasn't as potent as his usual sharp gaze. Harry gave him a look of curiosity, eyebrows furrowed.

Draco moved his head forward slightly, eyes still glued to Potter's, watching his stony expression carefully as Snape begun to yell out some instructions for the day's lesson plan. The door opened from the front of the room and Snape's eyes snapped to the form walking in.

"Seamus, nice for you to join us...Ten points from Griffyndor."

A couple Griffyndor's rolled their eyes at Seamus and spat a couple ugly words but nothing too terrible, and he took his seat with a shrug and a pained expression.

Harry turned from his short-lasted gaze at Seamus to look back at Draco, but found the seat empty. Harry gave a scattered look all about the room.

"Wha-?"

"Where's he going, you think?" Ron whispered in a sort of daze.

Harry looked to him and matched his gaze in time to see Dumbledore exiting the classroom, Draco in tow. Harry decided Dumbledore must've entered the class directly after Seamus during the small upheaval of Griffyndors.

"He did that last week too." Hermione whispered with narrowed eyes, "Strange."

A flutter of robes suddenly re-appeared.

"Oh, I almost forgot." Dumbledore mumbled beneath the chatter of students that died to silence, "Mr. Weasley? I'll need you as well."

Draco gave as confused and shocked a look as the trio. Ron was slow to his feet, nervous with searching eyes, but eventually stood and walked carefully the way up to the headmaster, "Yes, sir?"

"Come with me." Was all Dumbledore said in reply.

* * *

Draco sat in the same seat as he had before, staring back to Dumbledore who seemed to have a lighter expression than the last time, though it was obvious Dumbledore noticed Draco's was even darker.

Ron was left outside the door to Dumbledore's office, and Draco looked back every once in a while to ensure he didn't intrude on their conversation. He didn't need him knowing he was a little orphan child now and to run off and tell everyone about his sudden misfortune. It'd bring no end to an endless reign of teasing from other cold hearted Slytherin.

"This took a little longer than expected-"

"My relatives were late in their replies?"

"No...they were fast to reply-"

"Which one is it then?" The anticipation for the following half year and the sort of life he'd have to live, and the commands he's have to take were eating him within. Almost all of his known family were like his father, an allegiance to the dark lord and the expectation for every other respectable wizard to follow a similar lifestyle of subservience to Voldemort.

"...None of them. I'm sorry, Mr. M-..._Draco, _none of them had the current means. So the ministry had to move on to finding a willing foster family. There was but one."

"A foster family?"

"Yes, meaning, it'll only be temporary. And once you've reached eighteen, you'll be given your inheritance if your mother hasn't shown up or been found in that time."

"Have they started an investigation?"

"The ministry informs me they have."

"...I believe she's dead."

The words were small and meagerly placed together, waiting in expectation for Dumbledore's reply. Dumbledore looked to him for a moment, in quiet reflection of what these words meant.

"You can never give up on hope, Draco. Hope is all we ever have when it concerns the future."

Draco didn't respond.

"Who is it then..?"

"Who is what?"

"My foster family."

"Ah. This should be an appropriate time then." Dumbledore remarked mostly to himself, moving from his seat and heading to the door of the office, opening it slowly as the realization begun to creep into Draco's heart.

"Mr. Weasley? Please, join us."

Draco turned around to greet Ron with a flash of fear in his eyes, Ron looked to Dumbledore and then back at Draco as he slowly made his way towards the desk. A chair was pulled up beside Malfoy and Ron sat into it slowly, attempting to deduce what was happening.

"Draco, would you like to explain what's happened to Ron yourself, or should I do it?"

Draco was in a state of shock again, a buzzing noise filled his head. "You..." Was all he could manage.

Dumbledore looked to him for a moment, Draco eyes were downcast, and turned to look at Ron.

"Last week, Mr. Malfoy, Draco's father, was found dead in Malfoy manor. The cause of death has been confirmed as a heart attack. Mrs. Malfoy has currently been missing since that day, the last person confirming to have seen her was a house elf the day of Lucius Malfoy's death. However, due to this tragedy, Draco has been left without a suitable guardian. The Malfoy's relatives didn't have the current means to take in Draco and of all the possible foster families, the ministry found that only one was willing at the moment to take in Mr. Malf-..._Draco_. That was the Weasley Family, Ron."

Ron's head snapped to look at Draco downtrodden expression with shock and then looked back to Dumbledore, "Wha-?"

"You should be proud to have such a generous and caring family such as yours at a time like this when Draco needs a warm, welcoming, home, Mr. Weasley."

"I-...Bu-...I mean to say, Sir..."

Dumbledore waited patiently, Draco looking to him when even-leveled eyes, waiting for his next words.

"..._Malfoy?_"

* * *

Ron was particularly slow as he dived his fork into his mashed potatoes, looking at them sourly with his head propped by a single fist. He was debating in his mind whether to tell Ginny tomorrow or perhaps even the next day.

"Ron? What _is _the matter?" Hermione asked, "You refused to tell us what Dumbledore had to say and worst of all you've been in a bad mood since."

"Nothing..." Ron replied, he was deciding to tell Ginny before anyone else, but mentally was trying to come up with an appropriate time to tell Ginny.

It only seemed fair that his sister know before he let anyone else know at the moment- but perhaps it was just an excuse. She was sitting right there. He could tell her right now- But no, it seemed like awful timing.

"Ron, I've noticed it too. Both Malfoy and you have been in strange moods today."

"...You have a class with Malfoy?" Harry asked Ginny with a confused look, "I never knew that."

"Oh, no. We don't. I saw him looking out the astronomy tower. You see, I left a book there and thought I'd go fetch it before dinner now, when I went up to get it, I saw him there sitting in a chair just...staring. I was little nervous, so I pulled out my wand and held it carefully. I called out to him, I thought maybe he'd kill me, but he seemed to just be confused. Didn't even glare. I asked him if everything was alright and he said I should surely know. I think now he might've been being sarcastic but he didn't seem like it. His tone was...well,...sincere."

Ron looked to her to ensure she hadn't guessed anything or investigated into the matter. When she looked to him for any form of elaboration on the subject, he just shrugged.

"Malfoy's a strange person, suits a strange mood I suppose."

It was almost nine in the evening when the trio and Ginny decided to make their way up back to Griffyndor's common room to sit around for a while before heading to bed. Soon sitting by the light of the fire with Hermione having a book in hand and Harry chatting to Ron about a good quidditch game awkwardly, both thinking about that meeting with Dumbledore; Harry attempting to guess about the meeting, Ron recalling every word.

Ginny was in a chair right there and if he so chose to, could tell her right then and now in a hushed whisper so that no one else could hear and then come out with it to everyone to ease their worrying. Despite the opportunity, he averted his eyes to stare at the growling fire.

A small voice entered his ear suddenly, "Please, Ron, tell me what's wrong."

He looked up to see Ginny who moving to sit inbetween himself and Harry, she looked to him with worried eyes. Ron gave a small sigh and looked at the others who had taken an obvious and unashamed interest.

He looked back to Ginny and then groaned, putting his head into his hands, "What did I do to deserve this?"

"What're you talking about?" Ginny questioned frantically, pulling on his shoulder in an attempt to sit him up right, "Ron."

He sighed and let his hands fall to his knees, back still bent over in some form of humiliation and defeat.

" Malfoy's father died."

There was a thick silence and Ron turned his head to gauge a reaction. Harry's inquisitive expression had turned to a softened one, Hermione seemed slightly shocked, and Ginny's mouth was slightly open.

"And his mother's gone missing."

The shock grew but so did the mystery which was evident in their knitted brows.

"So Malfoy was supposed to go to a family member, but none of them would take him."

"Oh God." Hermione whispered, thinking back on the times he'd called her mudblood and weighing it against these punishments. A brief thought crossed her mind that he deserved this, but she tucked it somewhere deep inside of her. The hate still existed as well as the pain from the memories and as much as she tried to scold herself for her thoughts, it was difficult. She knew that was a little dramatic, perhaps extreme, but it was him who made her embarrassed of her parentage and never, should she have to feel that way. She loved her parents.

"Then he was supposed to go to an eligible foster family but only one would be willing to take him in from those too."

"Who was it, Ron?" Ginny hurried his explanation.

"Us, Ginny. The Weasley's, _our _family."

"What..?" Ginny whispered, "You mean...But it's nearly Winter Break, will he be-?"

"Dumbledore told me the ministry wants to see Draco adapting to his new environment well, so they're forcing him to take the break with us."

"Mum and Dad volunteered for this then?" Ginny was taking the news slowly, but rather well in comparison to her brother.

"No, they were asked." Ron replied sourly, "I mean..._Malfoy_."

"That's going to be hellish." Harry murmured.

"But it's not _all _bad, imagine how Draco must be feeling about this?" Ginny replied, "Ron, I think we should give him a chance."

"Give _who _a chance? Malfoy?" Ron asked incredulously, "Come off it."

"No, really. Ginny's right." Hermione said, giving a small sigh, "I mean, I've always hated him. _Loathed _him, really. But...this is awful...even for him."

There was a brief moment of silence.

"I think you should talk to him." Ginny said suddenly in a smooth and even tone, looking up to her brother with flowering compassion, "It might make it less awful on all of us if you tried to-"

"_Talk to him? _You all have gone completely _mad!_"

"Ron, stop." Ginny said, "If you won't, I will."

"I-...But-..." Ron sputtered, "What would I even say? Hello, Malfoy, I hate you and you hate me, but for the sake of our winter break, let's play nice."

"Well, it'd be a start." Ginny sighed, "Maybe it'd be _best _if I talked to him."

* * *

Draco looked out at the crest of a snow pile and a couple of the first years taking turns diving into the center of it feet first. A strange feeling had left his bones quaking and his hands fluttering as fast as his heart was sinking.

A hand touched his shoulder tenderly and within his skin, he jumped and sucked in a frigid breathe of air. He looked back at the man who started intently in his eyes, half-moon shaped glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose.

"I didn't mean to frighten you." Dumbledore said, "But I have the letter I promised to give you. If you'd like to look over it, that is."

Draco looked at the yellow envelope sealed with an official wax bearing, broken and cold. Gently, he took the letter. If he read it, maybe it'd sink in. Maybe the truth of it all would stop this jittery feeling and end his hazy confusion.

"What day is it, Professor?" Was his only reply, dry and barely audible.

He noticed it was the only word that had left his lips all day. Crabbe and Goyle had long given up on trying to get him to speak to them, Pansy still attempted at least once a day, three times at her most frustrated.

Dumbledore thought briefly, "It's Wednesday. It slips my mind at the best of times."

Draco watched the girl spinning like a top in the falling snow, the two boys laughing distantly to themselves. It all seemed like a dream he was, where the only living soul on this earth was him and every happy face was put there by some evil god wanting to toy with him, see how long he could last in this misery.

"This can't go on, Draco."

Draco didn't move, as though he hadn't heard, and Dumbledore gave a sigh, "When I was young, my mother got very sick. She lived for so long, I thought it was nothing. I thought she'd live forever, albeit in some pain. She died when I was sixteen, gone away from home. I was told by a letter and refused to believe it until the funeral. I wouldn't forgive myself for many years to come. But then I realized something."

He paused in thoughtful repose.

"...Life goes on. With..._or without _you."

"Why would you tell me this?" Draco whispered, "You hated my father, you hate me. Understandably. But why would you treat me with kindness?"

"I never hated you, Draco. I react to your behavior with a tough reform because it's the punishment I believe you deserve- you have the potential for greatness and anything short of strict on my part would be cutting you short. I never gave you special attention because you didn't need any, you're tough hearted and strong willed for nothing less than perfection in all your pursuits. A true Slytherin."

"You were a Griffyndor, Sir."

"But respect can be given to any of the four houses. Great people emerge from all sorts of minds. Be it from the noble heart of a Griffyndor, the logical brain of a Ravenclaw, the modest kindness of a Hufflepuff or the resourceful ambition of a Slytherin. And in life, we all can change. The purest Griffyndor can become the perfect Slytherin. Or the perfect Slytherin can always become the purest Griffyndor. But in the end it is important to remember we are all people with different experiences making us unique."

Draco looked down to the letter in his hands.

"I'm concerned about something to be honest, Professor." Malfoy's voice was even meeker, growing colder and distant.

"What is it?"

"I didn't cry for my father. I didn't particularly like my father...I-" Draco swallowed his words, feeling the paper between his fingers again, shuddering at the thought of the empty bottle in his hand.

"Your mind will work through it." Dumbledore assured him, "It will sort your emotions and eventually, make a clearing long enough for you to grieve."

"...and how about my mother?"

"No news."

"Professor?"

Draco turned slightly at this, starting at the voice of a girl intruding upon this conversation- if anyone else had heard about this, his worst fears had come true...Weasley had told.

"Yes, Miss Weasley? I trust your brother, Ron, has informed you upon the situation."

"Oh, Yes, Professor. I was hoping for a moment or two to talk to...erm...Draco."

"Oh, yes. Please, go ahead. And Draco, remember what I've said."

Dumbledore slipped his hand from the stony shoulder and left his side, leaving the small but open atrium, exiting through a large wooden door.

"How did you find me here?" Were the first words from Draco's mouth, with a similar malice that matched his old tone.

Ginny swallowed at the rocky start to their conversation but replied with, "It's not the point."

Draco released a dry puff of air in a humorless laugh, folding his arms, Ginny half expected a cocky or sarcastic smile to form, but the same miserable expression was on his face, looking out the frosted window.

"I know I'm intruding on your holiday, and your family, and your life. Yell at me if you like, Weasley, it changes nothing."

So that was it, Ginny thought, he was defending himself against a non-existent oncoming attack.

"I wasn't about to yell at you, _Malfoy_." She replied, folding her own arms and walking towards him slowly, "I was actually going to ask how you were."

An alarm set off in Draco at these words and spun his head around to give her an almost offended look, "What?"

"How are you? It's a normal question to ask a person whose going through an ordeal such as yours."

"I'm perfectly fine."

"Honestly?" Ginny laughed a little, "You've been moping for days. A week at least, and you've been acting strangely this whole year."

"It's nothing."

"Nothing? _Nothing_. Your father's...and your mother is...and it's supposedly _nothing_."

"It's nothing I'd discuss with _you_."

"And Ron thought this would be pointless." Ginny sighed, "Draco, we barely know each other. Can't we have a normal conversation as acquaintances?"

Draco remained quiet, turning his view back to the snowy scene where the first years had fled and a sloshy pile of icy water was left.

"...What'd you want me to say to you, Weasley?"

"What I wanted to let you know was that you'll be moving in with my family and I soon, I wanted to let you know..., what I mean to say is... We don't hate you for what you've said or mostly what your father has said to us." Ginny ended on a blunt note, but truthful, and she figured even Draco could appreciate her straight-forward honesty. "We don't hold a grudge against you if you were worried."

Draco became eerily quiet and then with little emotion, but just an ounce of bite,"Why on Earth would I be worried about what a family of weasels thinks of me?"

Ginny blushed, swallowed, batted back the burning behind her eyes and mentally scolded herself for think a Malfoy could possibly change. She felt like she was suddenly suffocating and immensely ignorant, just as Malfoy often made people feel. Though his words were said with perhaps two-thirds less the enthusiasm, the words still hurt because _this _time she was expecting it, _this _time she was reaching out a hand and got it slapped away.

"All I wanted was to let you know that when you become a part of our family this winter holiday, we'll _treat_ you like family. Because that's how we are and if you think that's _stupid_ or _strange_, it won't matter, we'll do it anyways." Ginny swallowed, blinking wildly in a sudden fit of anxiety and even found herself beginning to turn red, "Because we treat everyone like family. No matter how _rude_ or how _mean _or how intensely _ignorant _they may be. Because we want to _help _people when they have _no one _else."

Draco gave her a side-ways look, "As is the Weasley way, isn't it?" He replied after a moment of pure silence and nervous stuttering from Ginny, "I suppose your brother thinks this is all pretty ironic."

"You don't get it do you, you idiot?" She whispered, hardly able to hold the tears, "No one is enjoying your pain. No one is benefitting from your tragedy or suffering. We're trying to _help _you and you're being... ...Just _horrible_, Draco."

Malfoy attempted to remember a time when anyone at Hogwarts had called him Draco. Like he was someone else outside of that family name.

Draco was quiet again, thinking over her response, and when he turned around to let her know that he knew that, the room was empty.


	3. A Full Home, An Empty Heart

Ron cleared his throat in an uncomfortable manner, arms folded. When the train rocked, his sleeves brushed against Malfoy's skin and that was closer than they'd ever been except when Malfoy had occasionally pushed him in the halls.

But now he was just staring out the window from beside him, head against the cold window pane, his breath fogging up the glass every time he released a breath and it was intensely interesting to watch him out of the corner of his eye every once in a while, to see the breath escape his lips and know he was human. This humanoid he'd thought was a monster for so long. Human.

The woman came by with the trolley, asking if any of them wanted candy or other snacks. Harry bought enough for all of them to share as a thank you to the Weasley's for allowing him to stay at their home for a part of the winter break. Harry stating it was the least he could do and then going on to describe how they could never understand the Dursley's piggish qualities, especially around the holidays, and how disgusting they were.

Draco found himself wanting to smile at least once at Potter's descriptions of the cousin he called Dudley, but found a painful sensation gripping his heart when he tried to capture the happiness long enough to smile, and decided to sink into his own world a little longer.

Ginny looked across the way where Draco's legs nearly brushed her lengthy legs, and slowly, offered him a cauldron cake. Draco looked up in surprise, made eye contact, and looked away quickly. He shook his head modestly, wanting to say, _'No, thanks.' _in a way to apologize for the earlier incident, but was unable to make out any words.

Instead, he slowly found himself in a sort of trance that felt like sleep. Or the closest thing to sleep he'd found in a long time. He carefully felt the corners of the envelope he had yet to open. The idea of reading the flat and lifeless words of a person impersonal to his father, or worse a person who despised his father as half the wizarding world did, irked him. To an extent, their opinion of his father extended to him as he was the spitting image, from facial expressions to politics.

Wasn't he?

And what about his mother? Cold words to describe her current missing status on this paper. Draco worried himself sleepless night after night, wondering where she was sleeping in the world at that exact same time. Was she dead, in hiding for some strange reason? Voldemort was the _strange reason_ that was not so strange at all but more so expected.

He wished he was so oblivious.

He knew his mother was dead.

The only two people in the world he'd learned to trust and at the best of times, were the most loving people he'd ever met. Towards the end, though cold, distant and threatening, they were the only two people in the world that mattered to him. Stricken from him, it alleviated so many issues he thought would remain with him for the rest of his life. But at the same time, it took away the only constant in his life.

Could he bare to read a paper so lifeless and factual? Like nothing had happened important enough to change a person's life?

Snow splattered against the window pane in icy droplets, sliding and melting to water almost instantly. He watched the droplets dying in the warmth. Despite the comfort it must've brought, it melted away and died.

"Looks like it didn't get cold enough to be solid snow, yet." Hermione said suddenly, "That'll be messy."

"Yeah." Harry agreed awkwardly, "Your mum won't be too happy about that, will she, Ron?"

Ron looked sideways at Malfoy.

"Ron?"

"Uh, no. No, she won't be." Ron finally replied, eyes never leaving Draco's profile that rested against the glass. "I imagine no one'll be happy about _this _at all."

There was an extended period of silence and then some chatter that less involved Ron, as his input was typically negative anyway, and more so involved Ginny and Hermione. Harry took to occupying himself with guessing what the contents of the strange yellow envelope Malfoy was holding could contain.

It was only at debarkation that Malfoy even moved from his position at the window.

As they rolled into the station, first surrounded by total darkness and then followed by being pushed into the light of the station, the passengers of the small cubicle-like room stood as the train came to a hault abruptly within seconds.

With a snorting-huff, the train was put to a steamy rest. Draco looked up and around the compartment as the others begun grabbing their things, he followed suit. For the last portion of the trip, he'd tried taking his mind off his father and mother and had taken to imagining what life with the Weasley's could possibly be like and how he would greet them. He'd have to thank them and that was simply inevitable. He wanted to thank them but at the same time felt suspicious, thinking perhaps that they jumped at this chance for more reasons than the kindness of their hearts. Possibly, they were attempting to work a scheme to embarrass him socially, put him down status-wise, or even take his fortune from him with proper adoption.

Though Draco assumed all three of these were motives, he felt internally, he might as well deserve it. He'd probably do the same thing in their position with an opportunity as bright as this- humiliate and take money from the son of their enemy? Why not? Sins of the father are those of the son, especially when that son was growing to be the mirror image of said sinful father. In truth, he had to give credit to the Weasley's.

Excellent motives, excellent move, good play.

God knows he wasn't in the game anymore.

Take the pawn and put him to the front line, let him be the sacrifice, use him up for all his good use and let him be thrown away like the rubbish he was.

Draco snatched his bags from beside and below him, just two, and walked behind Harry.

They exited the train slowly, and instantly as he stepped off the train, he watched Harry being tackled into a tight embrace. He jumped back in shock, hand reaching for his wand and heart thudding in his chest.

"It's great to see you, Harry, dear."

"Haha, _Hairy Deer _eh?" A Weasley twin, either Fred or George, commented quietly to the other while the receiver of said joke snorted and gave a quirky smile.

When their eyes met the infamous Draco Malfoy, the twinkle in their eyes and joker smiles across their faces shriveled up and died somewhere deep within them, they looked to him with curiosity and then regained the healthy jovial look, seemingly remembering something.

One whispered something and the other didn't respond in words or expression.

Draco watched the woman part from Harry, "Oh, it's nice to see you too, Mrs. Weasley." Harry replied smiling.

She next attacked Hermione for a moment or two, "You'll be staying for a few days, won't you?"

"Just two."

"Oh, I thought I'd get lucky."

Hermione laughed genuinely, holding her a little tighter before letting go and Molly's eyes begun to drift onto the next boy, a paler shade than the rest, even Harry to which Molly thought practically impossible. A nervous energy strung a chord in her heart recalling Harry's state when she first saw him. She thought he looked neglected, but the sight of Malfoy made her swallow.

She forced questions back and gave a small smile. She begun to open her arms and Harry widened his eyes at the same time Ron gave a crazed look towards his mother.

"She's...gone mad." Ron whispered.

Draco looked up and suddenly felt himself within a warm embrace, and though the sensation was strange and felt horribly wrong, somewhere inside it felt right and allowed the moment to continue despite wanting to push her away from him. Though he stood half a foot taller than her, he felt so small within her arms. He was hardly aware what was happening when she parted.

"Welcome to the Weasley family, Draco. You'll feel right at home soon enough. This must be...so hard." She took a moment to reflect on these words, "But we won't dwell on that." She put a comforting hand on his shoulder and moved to take his bags, in the process, knocking the small envelope from Draco's hands to beside her foot, "Oh, I'm so sorry."

She picked it up from the floor, looking it over curiously as he took it back politely.

"What's-"

"Nothing." Draco replied quickly, the slightest bit of life restoring in Draco's dead gaze, "It's nothing."

After responding, Draco wondered momentarily why he'd answered in the way he did, but came to a rather instant solution that the letter was something private. Something only he should know about. He put it into his pocket and picked up his own bags.

"I can take my own bags.."

* * *

**Song Bird Sacrifice**

* * *

**CHAPTER 3**

* * *

Draco found the house not immense in size, but immense in potential population. The dining room table was elongated and had a chair in every available spot, they weren't all matching and some of them wobbled, but there was the potential to fit possibly three families. The living room had a spacious and plump couch, an undecorated Christmas tree filling in any available space. There were flights of stairs with multiple landings and a dozen bedrooms and along every wall was loud wallpaper covered in photographs, some moving and others still.

Mostly, they were still-life as these were cheaper.

The house was in it's entirety very homey and humble, something both strange and depressing to Draco Malfoy.

After standing dumbly in the kitchen for a good minute or so while others fled to all reaches of the home, Draco was last, left alone with Molly Weasley. Harry had gone off with Ron. Hermione with Ginny. Fred and George went snickering into the living room, still stealing glances at Draco, and more voices came echoing from the halls. It was like they were multiplying within the home. Glimpses of red-coal hair snaking about the home.

Mrs. Weasley smiled in satisfaction at the doorframe as everyone begun to settle into the home, unpacking and chatting excitedly about the idea of fun and relaxation on this Winter's Break. Then she noticed a presence, an uncommon presence within the room looking towards her.

She locked eye contact and then felt her face begin to heat up, matching her brassy hair, "Oh, goodness, I forgot. I can take you to your room. I was going to have Ronald do it for me, but-...Nevermind, follow me."

She brought him through the living room, up the stairs until they reached one floor before the top and opened a room that wasn't exactly as big as he was used to in his old residency. It was a small wooden room with a plain looking design, a bookshelf, a chest of drawers and a desk were the only things besides a bed in the room, all small in size.

"This used to be Percy's room..." Molly murmured, "...I'm not sure if you knew him. He's my son, he's-..."

Molly wanted to say he'd run away and abandoned them, that he'd lost his way temporarily, that he was just confused, but all she could manage was, "...terribly busy with the ministry this holiday."

She gave a forced smile and coaxed him into the room.

"I'll let you unpack. Come on down when you're done."

Behind him, the door closed with a click, and he set his trunks down onto the ground.

There was one window, facing a lavishly frozen garden, and he set his eyes upon the view as he clambered up into the bed, staring distantly out the frigid glass. He remembered when he was younger, he'd liked the garden they had around the house. A house elf had been planting some new flowers in the beds as many of the plants had died from the harsh winter. Though he knew it was against Father's policies, he set about helping. He'd always wanted to feel the soil in his hands. Soft like nature's pillow. And he wanted to explore in the dirt, touching worms and beetles that crawled between the large stems of fragrant, blooming flora.

But he was caught.

Not by his mother but by his father who'd gotten home early.

And he was reminded yet again that it was undignified for a Malfoy to be on his hands and knees in heat, toiling in dirt.

And Draco pretended to understand.

He swallowed.

The sound of his father's voice would never sneak up behind him again, would never threaten disownment or dishonor, or remind him how he disappointed his mother and would make her cry. He remembered how strongly his attachment had always been to his father and wondered when he'd begun to stray and why. He'd of done anything for his father. And now, some form of relief came to him when he realized what it truly meant for Lucius Malfoy to be gone.

But his mother- gone, alone, in danger?

And this was obviously Voldemort's doing so he'd be next.

Surely, he was on the list.

And suddenly, everything was as it was again. The questions, the insecurity, the guilt, the pressure.

In his usual attempt to calm himself, he begun to hum a song to himself and chose Fur Elise, a favorite of Kreacher's to play on the piano. He gripped his legs as tight as he could. As long as he was alone, he could be ten years old again. His fingers hit the corresponding keys along his leg with his eyes closed, he shook and shivered in the warmth of the bedroom. He died like snow against a window.

* * *

The smell of food was what woke him, and though he knew he should be considerably hungry, he only had the slightest ache in his stomach. Sleep had done his mental health some good, he could feel his gnawing fear assuaging even for only a few moments. He opened his door to watch others flying down the stair case in throes, yelling childish things like, "last one's a rotten egg!"

The last foot steps died away and Draco made his calm descent, looking at the photos of smiling happy faces in exotic muggle places. He was confused and perplexed at the vacation spots, but figured the Weasley's were odd people to begin with and didn't question it too closely. He looked at the happy, jovial expressions. He watched the moving ones which usually consisted of either the family members laughing or fighting playfully, sometimes a combination of both.

In his house, all the photographs had him or his parents with straight faces save for the few photos of him when he much younger and the novelty of a smiling baby photo was what they'd prized. Later, they wanted a mature young adult and so smiley faces stopped for the camera.

He reached the doorway into the kitchen and upon entering was greeted with a hellacious uproar of people moving about and attempting to find their perfect seat. Ginny wanted to sit by Harry. Ron wanted to sit by Hermione. Hermione, Ron, and Harry wanted to sit all by each other. Ron wanted to be able to also sit within ear shot of his sister. Fred and George said they wanted good views of the table. Molly was insisting from behind them, still over the stove with a wand in one hand and oven mitt on the other, that she was sitting by their father. Arthur waited patiently behind the mess of people beside Bill who smiled endearingly at the familiar scene.

Draco stood by the door in shock.

Dinner, at his own home, was a time of silence when not nervously answering his father's questions. It was never such an event as his mother and himself knew their places at the table. And rarely, was their a smile to be found unless it was the ones his mother produced from anxiety.

The last pot of food was dropped onto the table, and enchanted serving spoons set about making plates at each setting, the enticing meal made decision making a lot easier and everyone found their seats rather quickly. Arthur took his place at the head, Molly beside him, and one last seat was found available beside Fred and across from Molly.

Draco made his way to the seat cautiously.

"Oh, Draco. Glad to see you came down. Everything's working out fine for you?"

Draco nodded his head in reply, sitting down in silence, just as Molly opened her mouth to say something more, an owl came down the fireplace at the front of the kitchen, a small black puff of smoke following it.

"Oh, owls during dinner? Honestly? And so soon." Molly mumbled as the owl swooped over the table, dropping the only letter within it's grasp into Draco's lap. Molly became silent at this realization, deciding it might be important.

Draco picked it up out of suspicion and looked at the return address, recognizing it quickly as Goyle's.

He set it back into his lap after silence followed and shook his head, ""It's nothing important."

Dinner continued, Draco picking quietly at his food on his plate. It didn't look gross, he even took a bite of the roast and found it was some of the most delicious meat he'd ever tasted, but when it came from the home of a family you'd laughed at since before you had a face to go with the name, it tasted bitter and haunting.

He almost _wanted _everything to be disgusting and vile, he _wanted _them to treat him like he was the dirt beneath a floor matt, because then at least then, he'd feel some sense of normalcy.

"The Christmas tree is bare, Mum." Bill mentioned after swallowing a mouthful of potato, "I wouldn't suppose you forgot the spell?"

Molly smiled, "I thought we'd all decorate it this year, as a family like we used to. The Weasley's have been lazy the last few years, but we're going back to our ways this time. Ginny and Ron're growing up _so _fast. Soon enough, I'll be all alone..and.." She choked on her words and swallowed, clearing her throat.

The quiet was filled with remarks about how she wouldn't be alone, she'd have Dad. Or that they'd visit often. Or that Ron was never leaving, he'd live in his bedroom and yell at her for dinner for the rest of his days which Ron glared at and Ginny laughed hysterically at, she covered her hand at the indecency while Harry gave a large smile.

Draco squirmed, swallowing and feeling the crease of another envelope he wouldn't open.

He'd avoided Crabbe and Goyle for days before Winter Holiday. More like weeks in honesty. What would the letter say on the very day their break had started?

"Draco, dear." Mrs. Weasley said without the faintest thought of simply calling him _'Draco'_, "I'd like to let you know before it slips my mind that if you'd want to send any letters, you're more than welcome to use the family owl."

"Thanks, Mrs. Weasley." Draco responded quietly in a strained voice, a shudder passed through him, "I'll let you know if I need to."

Ron and Harry shared a look at the word _thanks _paired with _Mrs. Weasley. _It was shocking. They weren't sure what to expect before Draco came. They wondered if he'd be polite or rude to the woman sharing her home with a former enemy. Ron swore if he was rude to his _'mum' _he'd have his head mounted. But as evidence, it seemed he was being civil at least and Ron wouldn't be able to indulge in such a pleasure.

"Good, now don't be shy." She replied quickly, "I want you to be comfortable here."

Draco nodded twice in silent respect just as Ron whispered something inaudible to Harry. Draco didn't strain to hear it, but evidently Mrs. Weasley did as she gave him a severe look but just as quickly, dinner carried on with laughter and joy and the sullen face of Draco Malfoy.

* * *

Through his walls, he could hear them fighting.

It was Ron and his mother, they were down in the living room and he wasn't trying to hear, but it was easy to hear the fragmented sentences and put them together. It was an easy distraction and he thought he heard his name once or twice, so he opened the door just a crack, enough to see through and hear the conversation better.

"I don't want to hear such nonsense in my house ever again, do you _hear _me Ronald?" Her voice was angry, hot and red like her hair.

"You remember who he is, don't you, Mum? He's bloody Draco Malfoy!" At the word bloody, Molly gasped, "He called me names, called Ginny names, tried to kill Harry on the quidditch field a thousand times! And you butter his bread!"

Molly wanted to reply _because his father's a piece of work, that's why Ron. _Or _He was taught our kind was scum, Ron, like you were taught to have manners. _Instead, she held her tounge and folded her arms across her body.

"Because hospitality, compassion, and love should still mean something, Ronald. He's not your _enemy _here."

"His father called us-"

"_Lucius _Malfoy is not _Draco_ Malfoy."

Ron was silent.

"Now, " Mrs. Weasley begun, "You will treat him with kindness, or say nothing at all. Understand?"

Ron thought this over briefly.

"Yes, Ma'am." Ron whispered in defeat.

"And _you'll _be washing the dishes tonight."

Draco looked for a second longer through crack he'd left open with his door and then begun to close it slowly to avoid any creaking. He moved towards the bed in the room where two letters sat. Two evils he couldn't possibly face. Not tonight.

He moved them onto the top of his drawers, and moved the blankets back. He about to slip into the bed when he looked at the open trunk, bare now since he'd moved his clothes into the drawers and saw one last thing in the bottom. He picked up the small piece of paper and flipped it over to watch the familiar photo move. His mother with an intense regal pose.

He brushed his thumb against her blinking eyes and attempted to take a breath and not feel the pain he usually did in his heart and the heaviness within his lungs.

But he did.

* * *

Draco awoke sometime early in the morning, unusually early in fact, and momentarily, forgot where he was. He looked around in the darkness, a pale stream of moonlight helping his eyes familiarize themselves with his surroundings again.

The memory of Dumbledore looking into his eyes, a hooked dread behind his gaze resurfaced in his mind. The news unfurled quickly but in his soft rasp that made a protective shell encase every word.

Now that casing was gone. It was just a lonely dark room where he didn't belong, a house full of people who hated him, his entire future made into a white page. And then, in the repentant silence, it was then, that he realized with horror that this was all his fault.

He was unable to complete the task, unable to kill Dumbledore.

He was unable to be the strong man his father was, he ruined the Malfoy name, he was the cause of his mother's disappearance and his father's death.

He was responsible for his mother's death too as he could well assume that she was lying somewhere, untouched since Voldemort had either given her a respectable Avada Kedavra or mutilated her for Draco to simmer in guilt-eating insanity.

It was all his fault.

His heart skipped a beat and with a painful shallow gasp, he clutched the empty-feeling cavity on his left side. Curling into himself, he begun to shook. His eyes burned and he cried.

Cried for the disappointment he must've caused for his father and cried from the guilt of killing his mother.

He cried because he couldn't do it, cried because he should've been better, cried because he was alone, cried because now he was meaningless.


	4. Just A Boy

It was early morning, the sun was rising and Draco watched it with a steady look. He didn't care about the blasted sunrise, and in honesty, had always hated sunrises.

He had the letters in his hands again.

A knock on the door sent fear pumping through his veins and he turned around with a quick jolt of hidden energy in his lifeless body.

"Draco? Can I come in, Dear?"

Draco recognized it as Mrs. Weasley and though fearful of her judgment and her intrusion, felt that the voice though not smooth, was soothing in a maternal way similar to his mother's. He was surprised to find this quality in a woman he'd been taught was beneath him and was wicked, such a kind face and a loving heart. He'd been taught this was attributed to ignorance, but through dinner didn't find the woman to be ignorant. Ron Weasley was a different story, but Molly Weasley was a caring soul.

Which was something that he feared and made him almost nervous. It was like walking up to the sorting hat for the first time. A nervous butterfly-in-stomach effect every time she doted over one of her children, it happened worst when she called him _dear_.

"Yes." He responded dryly, turning himself around to face her. He hung his legs over the edge of the bed, looking up steadily at the woman who entered the room. He was dressed already in a slightly loose dark green sweater and black pants, on his feet were grey winter boots, his pants already tucked behind the bill of the shoe. His elbows rested against his knees, letter still in his hand.

His hair was done in it's normal precise look and Molly smiled at his early cleanliness.

"I see you found the bathroom fine."

Draco nodded a little and took to spinning the letter in his hands again.

She the door behind herself and slowly sat beside him on the bed, hands folded in her lap, she gave him a soft smile "I just want to talk. You don't have to say a word if you don't feel like it."

Draco tightened his hand at the silence, nervously twitching.

"It's...hard to trust someone you've been taught not to."

Draco snapped his head to look into her eyes, searching for some misheard words within her cool and sympathetic gaze looking at him, he was reassured he must've heard wrong.

"I know this isn't what you're used to either. Living like we do, I mean. And you must feel out of place. I would in your position. But, Dear, it's time to heal. What's happened is done and we're a family through and through. Harry may not be blood, but he's as much a part of our family as any of my children. Hermione Granger's my daughter as much as Ginny is. I love them. You are a part of my family now too. You can resist it and I won't force you. But, I'll be here. Like a mother will, she'll forgive and accept you again and again."

A brief memory of Percy's bright-eyed smile flashed across her mind.

Draco felt that familiar shaky feeling, a nervous flutter entered his stomach, he found it hard to breath and bit the inside of his cheek. He looked down at the letter in his hand again and then back up at Molly Weasley.

"Why would you accept me? After what my father's said about your family publicly, he openly ridiculed you, and what I've said to your son and daughter? What I've done to Potter? Wouldn't you find more enjoyment in seeing me homeless?"

Molly gave a look of shock, eyebrows raised and mouth slightly open. "I-..._No_. No, of course not. What an awful thought. Two wrongs don't make a right, Draco Malfoy."

Draco looked at her steadily and then turned back to looking at the letter.

"You're one of _those_ people, then." Draco murmured.

"And proud to be." Mrs. Weasley replied, putting a hand on Draco's shoulder, "Breakfast will be ready soon, Dear."

She had a smile on her face, standing to exit out the bedroom.

"We'll be going to Diagon Alley today, we're Christmas shopping."

* * *

**Song Bird Sacrifice**

* * *

**CHAPTER 4**

* * *

"Diagon Alley." Draco said quickly with a clear voice, one that Harry thought died away a long time ago, though the deathly droll to it remained, the voice and origin was gone within an instant, in a heated blast of floo powder.

Draco kept a dignified stance, now standing beside Ron Weasley who seemed all too quick to move towards Harry once he apparated, Hermione and Ginny clumped together as a group, already talking about what kind of gifts they'd possibly get for their loved ones. Hermione spoke excitedly about the muggle world and how excited her parents would be to witness the ever heart stopping gift that was magic. Though illegal, Draco noticed Granger was much more reckless than the first year he once knew.

Draco again, felt distant. Wizards and witches were crowded all around them, bustling from store to store, balancing box on box on box and yet felt more alone than in the confines of his new bedroom and more isolated than ever.

He felt like the kids he used to mock.

Without purpose.

He turned his eyes to stores, a shadowy ghost-like memory of his father taking him into each shop, through every twisted looking doorway, entered his mind and then ones of his mother. Secretly, he'd enjoyed going with his mother more. She listened to him when he spoke and acted like he was more than a money-grubbing heir, he didn't feel like _'young master Malfoy'_, he felt like Draco.

A pair of eyes suddenly caught his attention and realized they belonged to Ginny. She looked back to the group, then back to him. She motioned for him to join them and though the thought wasn't pleasurable, he started his way towards them.

A blinding light overtook him mid-step, he shielded his eyes and in an attempt to step back from the offending bright flash, he slipped on an icy brick and fell on his back, arm over his eyes.

Blinking and regaining himself, he took away his momentary shield to be enveloped in bright lights. Using his feet, he pushed himself from them.

"Ah..." He groaned, the pain behind his eyes still lingering, he reopened his eyes to view the crowding press that surrounded him like at his fathers trial that seemed so long ago, though that hadn't taken him off guard as this had.

Now he was lying on the ground undignified with a shocked expression on his face as words he couldn't comprehend formed questions that he not only wouldn't answer, but couldn't.

"Don't you have a soul?" Mrs. Weasley grumbled irritably, "Come off it, all of you." She stood like his savior before him, separating the offending media from his helplessly immobile body. He felt a sense of gratitude within him, and then at the same time a deep rooted humility that instantly made him feel sick.

He swallowed, his blanched skin blended with the grey ground and froze to the ground at the sight of a close group of familiar faces.

"Draco?" one whispered sharply with a look of disbelief gripping her expressions into frozen horror.

"Draco Malfoy? Being saved by a Weasley?" Another Slytherin asked in a mocking way, "And so ends an era."

"Another charity case now I suppose."

The others laughed and watched with amusement at the young Malfoy as he scrambled as best he could to his feet, a look of haughty sophistication took over where humility and shock had once resided. The regal air of disapproval was fake, like McGonagall's threats, but the mask was set. He could feel his reputation being torn from him with every laugh that escaped those lips. The one thing he thought he'd be able to hold onto. Slipping so fast. Everything would be in ruins, gone faster than his parents.

"I was perfectly able." Draco said roughly, adjusting his sweater by pulling at the hem, he looked to Molly Weasley, "If I had needed your help, I would've asked."

"Was only trying to help, Dear, I-"

"And I certainly didn't give you permission to call me your dear." Draco looked out of the corner of his eye for good measure that the Slytherins beside him were watching, they were smirking.

A certain shadow overcast their group like smoke, it was like their souls were burning internally and with every word or sound they gave out, a long string of black charred steam. How long had it been since he'd been at the front of that group? Did blackness surround his every move like a veil?

In front of of him, a light overtook Molly Weasley, whose eyes searched his face in confusion, her eyes begged him to step forward into her light as he took a step backwards, she wanted him to say he didn't mean it, to break in front of her and give into her warm compassion.

But a Malfoy was strong.

Draco looked down at himself, wondering if a light would come over him or if black was seeping from his lungs. It was a silly thought. Molly was in front of the rising run, the Slytherins were in a shadow. Explainable by basic science, but yet Draco looked.

All he saw was grey.

"I'm Draco Malfoy. I wouldn't have asked for _your _help."

The words were painful, every biting sound left slits across his tongue. His hands shook and he attempted to conceal them by putting them into his parka. Molly watched his face contort, his countenance displaying a cocktail of emotions. Hatred and guilt in one. Was his hatred directed at her?

He gave that look just as much at the other Slytherins.

He turned away from her, his eyes tearing from her body, and instantly, Molly felt something break from her. She took a step forward, as if to grasp something unattainable. When he looked at her with those eyes, she saw Percy. A boy put in a tight place and staged, having to choose between what he thought he was always meant to be, and what he was supposed to be.

Percy who sent back her Christmas sweaters every year. Percy who she hadn't seen since...when?

One last look, and he was gone in the shadows, in a shady alleyway, and whispers of _"I knew it. Knew this would happen." _came from her youngest son.

No one said another word. A hand squeezed hers in a reassuring way, to remind her this wasn't her fault. But the feeling wouldn't assuage her emotion.

* * *

Draco exited down the alleyway, lanterns making light of a pathway, and the walks his father used to take him on to discuss business with fellow death eaters came to the surface of his inky mind, rising from the black water where light reached the memory's burnt and fragile edges.

He ran along the cobblestone, pulling his arms away from outreaching dirt-coated hands. From old men who begged for money, from old women who offered him their cats, from the diseased who tried to make their peace with God.

He ran faster and faster, down alley after alley, making turns into crevices he knew no one but the truly desperate and broken would find in their mindless searching, searching for a place as close to heart as to a lemming. A place to die.

Truly, deep in side, he knew he wasn't strong enough. He wanted to give in now, before anything got worse, but in confliction, wanted to mend what he'd done. But for now, wanted somewhere dark enough that he didn't see the spiders crawling across the walls or the people's tear streaked faces, or the ragged clothes children wore who slept in the holes of the walls.

He wanted to find a place where peace could be made, and he knew this was somewhere even the room of requirement couldn't produce for him. It was somewhere inside, beyond his touch, beyond himself.

His lungs burned, his knees ached, and stopped just to catch his breathe, but catching his breathe turned to lying against the wall of an empty store building on the floor beside forgotten turkey bones, or he at least hoped it was turkey bones.

He felt the pit of hatred rising in him, taking over his thoughts until he'd decided everyone and everything in the world could very well implode and he'd be perfectly happy to live out the rest of his days alone.

Perfectly alone.

* * *

He woke and fell back to sleep in fits, he'd open his eyes to see the cold concrete as a reassuring constant, instantly feel better, and fall back into some form of sleep. Somehow, out in the open, amongst so many moaning victims, he felt safer than behind locked doors in a dark room.

It was only when someone attempted to mug him that he decided he should find a new space.

It was sunset by that time, when a man's hands begun to fish around in the pockets of his trousers and when he moved from his touch, the man seemed genuinely surprised. "Oh. Thought you was dead."

"No, unfortunately...alive. And penniless. So you might as well move along." Draco replied quietly, almost unfazed.

"Alive, yes. Penniless? What a laugh. You're a Malfoy, ain't you? Your father used to visit my store now and then. That is, that's the store you be lying on."

"My father is dead. My mother has disappeared. Isn't it common knowledge by now?"

"Mm. Orphan then are you? Tut tut, would'a thought _somebody'd _take you in with your inheritance and all. Shame, that is."

"Shamefully untrue. I _was_ taken in. By the Weasley's." He said the name in a plain way, as though thoughtful of the fact, and swallowed down something more painful than his pride; his guilt. "They were nicer to me than..." _anyone has ever been to a Malfoy._ But the words refused to leave himself.

"Well," The man begun with a tedious eye roll, "way I see it, seeing as you're lying in my spot, it's only courtesy that you...pay me a fee."

"I told you, I have_ nothing_."

"Oh no no, I get it perfectly well, my boy. You ain't got a piece of metal to your name at the moment. But you've got _other _things just as valuable to a lonely, broke, old man."

Draco looked to him in a confused way, "I was moving on anyway...I'm finding another pl-"

"No, no, no. Stay, _stay. _Price is fair, it's cheap."

The man reached out to touch the porcelain skin of the boy, his skin dirtied by the ground he'd been lying on. A humbled look glistened in his eyes that had never crossed his father's face except when in the presence of the Dark Lord.

The man pressed his thumb against the dark ring beneath his left eye and smile intently, "We can make an easy agreement, your father forgiven and the night in my spot for just...something so fast...so easy and..."

Draco felt his heart fall into the pit of his stomach, "Get...Get away from me."

"Oh, no, shhh..."

The man's dirtied hand moved to the button of his parka and as Draco attempted to move from the man's grasp at the same time, he pulled out a shining blade, reflecting the crazed look in the old man's eye and the fearful quivering of Draco's body.

The knife ruggedly cut the button of the parka, with the other hand he set to the next one, moving the blade to Draco's throat.

"Quiet now, quiet. Don't even think of touching your wand."

The man pushed himself ontop of him, positioning his knees on either side of Draco's body that lie against the cobblestone, wide eyed.

Just as his eyes diverted to the full attention of a stuck button, Draco quickly with dexterous movements, grabbed the man's arm and scrabbled out from beneath him, pushing off from the ground and taking off at a run.

The knife slicing his neck in the process, it left the remnants of an event he'd of liked to deny and pretend never happened in the form of a jagged cut across his neck. One he knew he'd feel the pain from for a long time to come. Healed and scarred, he knew it would still burn, like the cuts and bumps along his back and arms that still ached when he thought about them.

This one would burn and bring him to seething tears. Hot cries of why that couldn't escape the bubbles in his throat.

But for now, he didn't feel anything but the biting cold.

* * *

Draco stood at the edge of the fields surrounding the stacked home, add-ons supported by magical binds, looking at the lighted entrance way and the many shadows moving about the home. In the immense field, filled with nothing but a breeze, he could hear shouting coming from the home.

Questions of, _'where is he?' _

Answers like,_ 'Found his stuff sir, no Malfoy though.' _

Demands such as,_ 'He's here somewhere! Search harder. Little wanker's hiding.'_

_'We haven't seen him since this morning. Honest.' _

Interrogations going, _'Where were you when you last saw him?'_

Mrs. Weasley's lies saying, _'I can't remember.' _

Silence.

Draco emerged from the brush, still holding onto the bleeding wound with one hand and with the other, grasping his wand.

He made it to the door, opening it up with slightly labored breath, growing weak from blood loss and exhaustion.

"Malfoy." Goyle whispered, eyes intense on his figure, "Just the man I was looking for."

Draco looked to him with rounded eyes though his brow was set in it's determined glare, he looked toward the table, a wand to Mrs. Weasley's head and the others tied up with a guards surrounding them.

"Draco?" Hermione whispered beneath her breath, she'd been the first to doubt he'd ever show his face at the house again besides Ron.

Other guards were swarming the house, the patting of their feet distant and hollow sounding.

"We've found him! The magical Malfoy has _finally _made his grand entrance."

Malfoy worked up all of his strength and swallowed, "How dare you speak to me like that, _Goyle_. Think because my father's dead you've got some form of power now? The Dark Lord would never put _your _father in his position. _Idiot_."

"Didn't you even _read _my letter, Draco?"

"No. I don't have time to read your ninny _rantings_ Goyle."

"This is about your _mission_."

"What of it? There was no determined date to it's completion and I hardly think you have the authority to-"

"I have more power than you think. With your father dead, what place do you think the Malfoy's have in the future? With_ one_ heir? What a laugh."

"_One _Malfoy heir is more powerful than the whole Goyle _family_. Get _out _of here Greg, or I swear your last words will be, _forgive me Draco_."

"...Read my letter, Malfoy."

Draco pulled his wand from beneath his parka, wet with snow and frost, stained by the stream of blood from his neck. Pointing the instrument at Goyle, he felt his chest begin to heave with wracking anxiety and frustration, a boy he once controlled so easily beneath his thumb here with a smirk at him. Where had he even gotten this man power?

"You think you've got so much power, hm?"

Malfoy looked to the people surrounding that table, all looking onto him with an intense gaze. He pulled his parka from himself and using his wand wielding hand, he pulled his left sleeve up to bare against pale skin a black mark.

Molly looked to Arthur and then back to Draco with a hitch in her breath.

Goyle's smirk flat-lined to a sharp glare and quickly put his wand back into the waistband of his pants, not removing his eyes from his he commanded his men and watched him every moment as the men shuffled out the door.

When the last had exited, Malfoy, still pointing his wand at him, motioned for him to go on.

"Read the letter." Goyle murmured, "...we all know what really happened to your parents, don't we Malfoy? You're next...Isn't that right? So help me, the Malfoy name won't mean anything by the time I'm done with you."

"Get Crabbe on board with that too, won't you? Would love to see a world ruled by the most elite _morons _England has to offer."

Goyle slammed the door shut behind himself and all became silent.

"Liberum Obligatus." Draco said evenly with the frustration from Goyle tinging every word.

The binding around their wrists fell to the floor simultaneously.

"I owe an apology to you, Mrs. Weasley, and I'll be getting my things."

"Getting your...Draco, I-...I wasn't going to just _kick you out _over this." Mrs. Weasley sucked in a breath feeling overwhelmed, "Let me just have a moment dear and we can talk about..._everything_."

"There's not a moment to waste, Mrs. Weasley, it's not safe for me to be here. I have to-"

"Where will you go and- Oh my good gracious, what's happened to your _neck_?"

"A small accident. Never mind that. I'll be going home. Malfoy Manor."

"Not with that nasty cut you've got there you won't." Molly whispered quietly.

* * *

Molly held her wand close to the cleaned area of the wound, small trails of blood still seeping from the cut. A curved needle hung in the air with thread at the command of her wand, "Ternemus" She whispered quietly in a business-like manner with a thin lipped expression.

"You've got the dark mark." Hermione suddenly spoke, looking at the mark that Draco still hadn't concealed. He pulled his sleeve down onto his arm in response.

"Stay still." Mrs. Weasley said.

"What's your _mission, _Malfoy?" Harry asked.

"Wha-?"

"Oh, don't play stupid." Hermione replied.

"I-..."

"And what _did _happen to your parents?" Ron stepped forward, arms folded, looking down at Draco who sat on the couch, flinching each time the needle dug beneath his skin, "I think we deserve some answers after _this_."

_'You're next...' _

_'What **really **happened to your parents...'_

_'All my fault.'_

"Deserving and receiving are two separate things." Malfoy replied desperately, a quote from his father that sounded so much better coming from his lips, like a conversation was closed, but from him it sounded like just the beginning.

A rattling breaking sound emerged from his mind and dropped down into his stomach.

"You're a deatheater. At seventeen. You're parents must've been proud." Hermione said with a snide expression.

"My parents are who forced me into this- don't you get it?" Draco swallowed as the last stitch was put into place and the needle rested on the coffee table, "I'm next."

The others looked to him, waiting for more. Mrs. Weasley paused, holding the gauze bandage in her hands.

"Next for what?"

Draco looked up to Harry who asked the question as though it were lunch and Draco was having a difficult time between choosing the pasta or sandwich. Perhaps he assumed he meant he was next in line for the throne of the Malfoy prestige, the patriarchy.

Draco's hands shook with every word that crossed his head.

His fault.

He's next.

Kill Dumbledore.

Traitor.

Deatheater.

Malfoy.

"Everything!"

Around him, something that he'd kept under control for so many years happened and a shattering noise filled his ears. Hands on either side of his head, shaking like a frozen leaf in the wind, when he opened his eyes, he'd broken every window, shattered into a million pieces, like crystals all around them.

"I...I thought I had that under control." Was all Draco could manage to whisper.

The family looked around the room, looking for a single window left untouched but none could be spotted.

Draco wanted to say something, so he started shakily, allowing his mouth to take over as his brain reeled for an explanation, "I've been doing that since I was young...I-...It's disgraceful for a Malfoy to do unintentional magic. I'm really...What I mean to say is..." He was silent for a few moments and then looked back up to Mrs. Weasley, "I apologize. For everything."

She smiled at him warmly, a look of sympathy swimming in her eyes, "Our main problem is not the windows dear, those can be fixed with a flick of a wand. Why don't you just tell us what's happening, Draco, dear." She sat beside him slowly, hand moving to touch his gently, "We'll try and solve this as a family. You're not alone anymore."

Not alone anymore? When had he ever been able to discuss his status as a deatheater openly? Without fear of persecution? Or his mission or his future in general?

"I'm _not allowed._" Draco replied stiffly, "If _he _should ever know that _you _know..Look, I've been enough trouble to your family as it is. You shouldn't have spend every moment fearing..._him _for something you're not even _involved_ in."

"We gave up fearing him a long time ago." Harry stepped in, "It's the only way you'll ever beat him."

Draco went numb at these words. Not fearing him would be suicide, not just suicide, but murder. If he stood against the Dark Lord, he'd been killing off not only himself but his mother and possibly the Weasley family now as well, not to mention Potter and Granger. He'd be a serial killer for even giving him a smirk.

"No. No, _you're _family isn't in his hands. He's killed my father and he has my mother and-" Draco stopped himself, "You don't understand half of this war, Potter. You understand _your _side and _that's it_. You don't know what it's like for those of us who _pray _you kill him and have no _choice_ but to serve him. My mother's life is at risk and...I don't even know if he's already decided to kill her and he's just using me by this point, but if you were in this position wouldn't you do anything for your family? You're the heroic type, aren't you, Gryffindor?"

Harry was in shock. Draco, rooting for him? The thought had never even crossed his mind for a moment with all the resistance Draco had always provided. His mind moved sluggishly, the stunned silence ran on as he thought briefly of the Dursleys and saving them. Then the Weasleys, and Hermione. Wouldn't he do whatever it took to keep them safe? But to serve_ him_? To give \your loyalty and serve the one true darkness in the world.

Was he so narrow minded to refuse the guise of a evil accomplice to save the ones he loved? Or was that in itself cowardly? Couldn't he find _any other way _around such an option? But what if he couldn't? What if for once, he wasn't truly the hero?

"It was Voldemort then?" Harry replied slowly, his mind still wandering along the fields of self doubt at Draco's question, "He's killed your father and got your mother?"

"My mother is more than likely dead as well..." Draco replied quietly, "He swore that-..." Draco trailed off, "Anyway. It's my fault. It's my fault they're dead. I didn't complete my mission in time." He said it steadily, "All I know is I'm next."

"That's why Goyle was over then? About this mission?" Hermione asked, "Made quite the fuss over you. This mission must be important."

"It is." Draco murmured, "My father's loyalty was always questionable to him...so this is my punishment...and my father's."

"How would-?" Ginny begun.

"...It's complicated. You wouldn't understand, and I don't say that to be rude. I've done that enough. I say that because it's the truth."

"Try us." Ginny replied in a frosty tone that made Draco look up.

He watched her unamused expression steadily and then nodded slowly, pushing a hand through his hair, "It's my punishment because of the simple fact that it would be dishonorable to be so disinclined to complete a mission that your parents die because of your disloyalty or incompetence, or both." Draco said this as though it bored him, quickly as though rehearsed,"My _father's_ punishment is obvious." He said this slower with some more thought, "Everyday up to his death, he was on the verge of an anxiety attack."

"I don't understand...don't the other families understand your position if they've been through something similar?" Ginny replied.

"They'd never admit they're private struggles. They pretend they live a perfect life...that they've never doubted _him _for a second. I'm an outcast by now. I could go home, live as a recluse, but no family would ever want to be associated with my name ever again by this point. I've dishonored my family name. Singlehandedly."

Draco clenched his fists and set his jaw stiff, thinking back on all the times he'd promised his parents nothing but pride in the future. Disgraced. Dishonored. Gone. All he ever wanted in life- dead.

And here he was, fresh out of options, giving away the last few grains of privacy he had, the last few things he kept confidential to a group of people he once swore his enemies.

Draco Malfoy. The boy who dishonored his family. The boy who was the last remnants of a family's crown. Draco Malfoy, just a boy.


	5. Malfoy Manor, Remnants of a Disaster

Draco was faced with an obstacle he never could've prepared for and due to this, put it off into the cold for another night.

He'd set to fixing the windows just as he drew the conversation to a close in that living room the night before and successfully avoided any further conversation. He'd been questioned once by Ron, as he suspected he might and answered dully with, "Not now, Weasley."

Now, he was faced with a stretch of pavement and a looming shadow. A dark sheet-like sky felt far from him but at the same time, suffocating. Light bulbs hung above the thin material and all at once, felt like a bed bug on a child's mattress. The shadow came from his feet.

He debated on looking, asked himself mentally if he even wanted to know what was to be his death.

For some reason, all that he could imagine was these being his final hours. That the great looming shadow was death ready to take and receive him. In these final moments, he didn't even so much care what killed him but, that for the sake of his sanity, it just take him into a cold shadowy embrace of compassionate understanding. Death would show him more kindness than life had, he was sure of it.

He turned to see his captor, but only to see the man in the alley. The ex-shopkeep that almost...

The memory came back hauntingly, buttons flying from him, privacy exposed for the sick pleasure of an old pervert. And just narrowly escaping just as he revealed himself to him. Running, just running, unfeeling to the event as fear took over him.

It was only now, refacing the demon who looked into his eyes with lust, that he realized how close he'd been.

Now he was running again, on the move, but a heavy weight weighed each step down. A voice entered his head asking why, over and over again, why? Why Draco?

Alley blocks down the beaten cracked bricks moved, turning into red liquid. Streams of blood poured from the walls, everything liquidating to spouting waterfalls of red. Draco looked at it with disgust, "Oh, God.." He murmured, attempting to step away out of the pool of blood but was blocked by another wall of melting bricks.

His heart lurched, realizing he was enclosed. He searched the confines for an exit but a form in the middle of the filling pool began to erect and Draco stopped his frenzy to watch the shape morph into the likeness of his father.

"Worse than killing your own father, you put our name to shame..."

His mother morphed from the blood as well, her sunken pale face quivering,

"Save me, Draco. Save me."

"Mother? Mother, where are you? Just tell me and-"

The parents he'd had, the parents he'd been given, melted away from him back into the pool of blood that climbed and drenched his body, making him tingle with every warm inch of it's thick viscosity wrapping around him. When it reached his mouth, he held his lips together tightly, when it came to his nose, he held his breath, sputtered on the blood, and closed his eyes. Allowing it to take him.

Hopefully, he'd drown.

Just as he felt life begin to drain from his body, he opened his eyes and felt the dry familiar setting of a bedroom.

Not his bedroom, but a Weasley's bedroom.

On plain sheets, beneath a plain blanket, he found himself still alive, his neck burning.

He touched the cut gingerly, feeling a sharp stabbing sensation crawl up his spine.

"What on Earth...Why're your buttons all gone?"

Draco turned quickly to the voice in the otherwise quiet bedroom. A bird chirped at the sunrise outside, but the quiet surroundings were somehow ill-feeling to him in comparison to what he'd just came from.

Mrs. Weasley looked to him expectantly, pausing with the needle and thread in hand.

"I don't know..." Draco murmured, "...don't worry about mending that, I can buy a new one. I've got money in my account."

"Wasteful behavior." Mrs. Weasley replied with a shake of her head, "That gets your nowhere, Draco Malfoy."

Draco moved, swinging his legs from around the bed.

"Oh, oh not so fast, Dear." She stood quickly, "Wait a second."

She sat on the side of the bed, looking over the stitched cut across his neck, her fingers trailed it gently. "Swellings come down some since earlier."

"Earlier?" Draco asked.

"I couldn't sleep...I...I was worried about the cut on your neck and...that you'd get up and leave...in the middle of the night." Memories of Percy entered her head again and then took Draco's cold hand into hers as though to prove to herself she'd guarded well and he was indeed still here in his flesh,"You know, when Percy was young, he had trouble controlling his magic until he was about fourteen."

Draco felt his cheeks begin to heat up at the mention of last nights spectacle. He'd kept his emotions in check for so long, he hadn't had to deal with the repercussions hysteria always brought for him.

"What changed?"

"I told him that every time he felt like he couldn't control his magic, to remind himself who he was. He was Percy Weasley, fourteen years old, and most certainly had control of his magic. Never had an accident again. He just said that over and over until he'd get it under control."

"...Mrs. Weasley, I have to leave." His words were untouched by emotion.

She was silent, the smile slipping from her face and looking down at her hands.

"I'm Draco Malfoy. I'm seventeen years old and most certainly the only heir at the moment." Draco replied, "I have to run my estate, and I have to face_ him_."

Mrs. Weasley shook her head, her shaky hands folded on her lap and her quivering bottom lip faced him suddenly, "No, you don't. Draco you're just a boy. They can't expect you to-"

"I'm a death eater. I'm the Malfoy heir. They _do_ expect me. Age is but a value."

"Let us help you. Please. Arthur knows people, Harry would be _delighted_ to help you and..-"

"No, Mrs. Weasley, you can't help me, I-" the memory of Goyle's words entered his mind at the thought of returning to Malfoy Manor, the headquarters of Voldemort at the moment.

He needed to read the letter.

He looked to the dresser where he'd left them last, to see them missing. He looked to Molly who licked her bottom lip nervously, "I have them. I-"

"You _read_ them?" Draco asked with cold accusation in every word, no menace, but the pain of deceit rang through him as something bitingly familiar and uninviting.

"No, I wanted to. I didn't. Then I forgot to put them back...I am sorry, you know." She admitted with a sigh of defeat and pulled them from her coat, "What are they? That one wretched boy told you to read one of them, didn't he?"

"Yes. I don't know what it could be."

"How about the other?"

His answer slipped from his mouth naturally before he could think of any response other than the bold truth, "It's the crime report on my parents by the ministry...I couldn't open it. Dumbledore gave it to me but I-"

He stopped himself mid-sentence, realizing what he'd been about to say and faced the other letter in his hands and then begun to open it.

"You can't be in here." He whispered.

"Draco-" she started.

"No. I have to read this in private. If you knew anything of my mission, you and your entire family would be _executed immediately._"

Mrs. Weasley hesitated for only a moment before standing and exiting the bedroom, just before she closed the door, she said, "Don't leave yet. Let's at least discuss it at breakfast."

"...Fine."

* * *

**Song Bird Sacrifice**

* * *

**Chapter 5**

* * *

Draco stared at his plate, unable to touch a single bite of the French toast breakfast laid out before him. A song played in his head, making all other noise null.

It was his mother's voice, singing a lullaby he remembered from when he was young. It had been in the family, and was something every mother sang to their child on her side of his parentage.

_Sing sweet dove, lay my mind to rest._

_Night is time to lie down your head._

_Love and joy is what I have sought._

_In dreams we speak only from our hearts._

_My baby love will fall asleep it seems._

_In a bed made with good dreams._

_Say your prayer, rest young one._

_Mama will be here when morning comes._

Her voice filled his heart with an unspeakable regret, one he'd attempted to ward off. She was dead.

Goyle's letter proved it true, among other things.

Voldemort wanted his mission to be finished within the week they returned to Hogwarts or "more than his sperm and egg donors will meet their expiration". The words made him shiver, swallow, and repeat to keep the vomit from coming up and out of his stomach.

This was why he'd avoided the letter, that last bit of hope stricken from him.

Never, did he think, would he have the strength to open the other one.

Ontop of this, Goyle was happy to mention that headquarters was no longer located at Malfoy Manor and was actually forbidden grounds for his growing army unless you were a Malfoy, which left only him.

His _home..._reason to be killed by Voldemort.

Voldemort.

_'Sperm and egg donors..' _

Like they were nothing, expendable garbage in a heaping pile of bothersome pests. Not even their titles. Not even their names.

What was he then? The spoiled Malfoy seed?

And dead.

His mother then, was most certainly, dead.

Dead.

"Draco? Draco."

Draco looked up from the fork he'd been looking at, refining his stare to look up at Molly Weasley, "What?"

"Ehem."

"I mean...Yes..."

"Much better. Draco, dear, there's only one way we can help you and that's if you would just tell us-"

Forbidden grounds. The Malfoy Manor was actually _forbidden _grounds.

"We have to move. Now."

"M-Move? Move to...now _that _is being _ridiculous_, Draco Malfoy." Molly laughed nervously at the thought of leaving the home she'd raised all her children in, the home she'd worked so hard to _make_ home for her family

"If you won't let me leave, then we have to go where I know you'll be safe." Draco stood from the table quickly, his short sleeved t shirt exposed the dark mark, it no longer being a secret.

Hermione looked at the black stain against pale white skin and dark blue veins beneath his transparent flesh.

Her eyes climbed to meet his eyes where he locked in on her eyes. She looked back to the dark mark and realizing the center of curiosity, he moved his arm against his body to conceal it. His gaze hardened.

"Where could _that_ possibly be?" Ron asked, mouth full of food, "We would've gone there a _long _time before."

Draco looked to Ron who refused to even make eye contact.

"Malfoy Manor. Goyle mentioned in his letter my home is forbidden grounds now. No one would come within a mile that's part of Voldemort's dark army."

"Forbidden-...I thought you said they were using it as _headquarters_." Ron replied quickly, "_You _said-"

"I know what I said. It's changed now, Weasley. Hold your breath unless you have something _useful _to say." Draco snapped, but it came across as a criticism more than a blow, "Goyle wouldn't step foot on forbidden grounds."

"What makes you think Voldemort wouldn't?" Harry asked.

Draco looked to him, dead in the eyes, "Voldemort doesn't go anywhere without guards. He's a coward despite it all and if he wanted to face me or any of you, he'd be here. He knows where I am. It's public news. And now, ontop of it, Goyle knows where I am and where you are, all of you. He can come here any time he wants- or any other deatheater for that matter. At Malfoy Manor, it'd be unforgivable to even step on my property."

Malfoy, for once, thanked Goyle's idiocy. In an attempt to disgrace him further, he included a bit of news that would change gameplay tremendously. Voldemort obviously had been in some rage when he'd declared Malfoy Manor as unforgivable lands as well and hadn't been thinking clearly. Now his declaration was set in stone and it was up to him to keep up the law he'd made.

"Why would Voldemort do that?" Ginny asked curiously, "Make it a death sentence to even step on your property?"

"It's disgracing the Malfoy name, as though that hasn't been done already." Malfoy replied, "My home is your safest bet for now, until this is over." Malfoy brought the conversation to a close.

"Until what's over?" Ron asked, "The war? Voldemort?"

Draco didn't answer right away, "Until it's safe again."

"And when will _that_ bloody be?"

"Ronald.." Mrs. Weasley whispered with a sharp tongue, shaking her head quietly.

"No, Mum, ever since you volunteered for this he's caused nothing but _trouble_. Then again, he's a Malfoy, this _shouldn't_ be a bleedin' surprise."

"I didn't_ ask_ to be taken in, Weasley."

Ron stood from his seat.

"But we did anyway, and what do you do?" Ron counted on his fingers in a visual representation, "You make my Mum cry, step all over us, and expect for everything to just be _handed_ to you because you're a _Malfoy heir_."

"I _apologized_.." Draco replied through gritted teeth quickly, head bowed slightly as he gripped the leg of his trousers.

"Apologies don't always solve things."

"Right you are." Draco replied quietly, "Which is why I'm trying to_ fix_ this. I didn't expect Goyle to find me so easily or to even search for me. It was a mistake and _my _fault. I admit to that! Now I'm offering you _my _home. A _sanctum _for your family to ensure you won't be _touched _by the people who want to _kill _me. Do you understand what I'm saying, Weasley? This isn't an unfair game of quidditch or a stolen potion. This is _serious_."

"Don't patronize me." Ron whispered threateningly. "I know what and _who _I'm dealing with."

"I am _trying _to _help_ your family!"

"Didn't come off that way! Sounded more like a _command _if you ask me."

"It_ is_ a command. Move to Malfoy Manor or risk the life of your family. As long as your mother is unwilling to let me go, these are your choices." Draco gave an inaudible sigh and mumbled to himself, "This is ridiculous. I have_ things_ to manage in my father's absence..."

Things: As in, planning the murder of Albus Dumbledore for the sake of saving himself by this point.

Wait...

If his mother _was_ dead...

Molly swallowed, "I..It'd only be temporary, Ron. If it's unforgivable grounds, it _would_ be safest." Molly sat in a silent repose for another moment and then looked back up to Draco, "We're going."

"Mum, this is insane. You'd do this for _him_?" Ron turned to his mother, "He wouldn't do the same for us, he just wouldn't."

A glass near Draco suddenly burst, falling on itself into tiny shards, spilling over the side of the table in the river of juice.

"Rubbish." Draco whispered, jaw set tight, "I'm getting my things. With or without you lot, I_ can't_ stay." Draco turned from the table, entering the living room and bounding up the stairs.

Ron looked to his mother who wringed her hands and then raised her eyebrows at him, "One more word young man...one _more _word."

Ron opened his mouth as if to test her on this new boundary and then snapped his mouth shut, shaking his head and folding his arms across his chest.

Hermione put a comforting hand on his forearm, "I'll be coming with." Hermione said suddenly, "I can stay for another week or so. I've wrote my parents. Told them it was an emergency."

"Oh, Hermione dear, you should go home to your family. This situation we're in...it's dangerous..."

"I know. I have to stay. For all of you."

The table went silent.

"Everyone, pack your things. Quickly." Molly whispered, standing and using her wand to set the kitchen up to begin cleaning.

As the room cleared, she already had the dishes washing themselves and a broom sweeping up around the floor where the broken glass remained and a rag cleaning up the juice.

She paused to take a breath and let in the sight of the kitchen, for how long would they be away from their beloved home?

Exiting the kitchen to the right, she entered a hall and then entered into the master bedroom where Arthur sat on the side of the bed, he looked up to attempt to make eye contact with his wife.

Her eyes were downcast as she closed the door quietly behind herself.

"...Arthur...I'm doing the right thing...aren't I?"

Arthur hadn't seen Molly doubtful of her decisions often, she was an opinionated woman with a set mind track.

"...You've never done a _wrong_ thing." He replied, "Not in all _my_ years. So as that as my proof, I'd say you'd have to be doing the right thing."

She smiled, sitting beside him, "We've never had to leave our home without knowing if we'd ever be back."

"Oh, no. We'll be back, most definitely, we'll be back. We're Weasley's. We're _strong_. And we don't let _anyone _take away what's ours."

A knock at the door silenced Molly's response, "Come in."

Ron opened the door, a pleading expression on his face, "Mum. Please, don't do this. You're doing this for _Draco Malfoy_."

"Ron, I can't let him go out on his own. We have to be there for him, to protect him."

"He doesn't need _protecting. _He's a top notch dark arts expert if you know what I mean...and he's got _Voldemort _on his side, Mum!"

"You think _he's_ on his side? He _killed_ his_ father_, Ron. He's got his mother captive or...or _something_. _And_ he's threatening him. A seventeen year old boy! I can't let him go out and get killed, Ronald, and neither could you. We're Weasley's, and maybe _one _day you'll understand what that means."

Ron fell quiet.

"We have to stick together. If this was Harry or Hermione, we'd be by their side."

"But this _isn't _Harry or Hermione."

"It's the end of this discussion Ronald Weasley. Go make sure everyone's packed."

Ron stood there for another moment or two, looking into his mother's eyes, an incredulous look that burned in her eyes and made her heart writhe within her chest. She couldn't let a defenseless child wander the streets alone under the command of Voldemort. What sort of sick twisted woman would she be then?

He deserved a loving home and a family to fall back on.

Just like anyone else.

"It's all packed." Arthur murmured, the last sweater folding itself in the patched up luggage bag.

He picked up the bag from the floor, putting it onto his shoulder. He looked down at his wife who hadn't moved from her position on the bed.

"I couldn't let Draco go, Arthur. I could never let him leave to be homeless and..and _Voldemort_. He'd kill him, Arthur. Use him up and _kill _him. I love him just like the other boys, I just couldn't-... Am I crazy?"

"No...you've just got a big heart. He appreciates you. Maybe not now, but in the end, he'll realize all that you did for him."

He took his wife's hand in his own, briefly kissed her on the lips and embraced the woman he'd loved for so long.

* * *

Malfoy apparated and the chill that usually came with it didn't leave his body as he looked around himself. The familiar hedges closed in all around him, the iron gate before him was dull and black. No luster left in it's metallic frame.

Others came after him, standing behind him, distracted by the enclosure of the hedges and the gate before them to notice his delay.

Draco pushed against the gate, hearing it's unfamiliar creak rattle in his ears and settle in his stomach. A haze had set in around the manor, the flower beds dead and lifeless where flora had once bloomed with vibrant shades that told the world the pride that a Malfoy took in each area of their life. It was his mother's flower beds, she never had been allowed to actually plant a single thing, but Draco had a feeling she'd yearned to dig her hands in the soil too. To feel the heart beat of life.

Draco looked to the tree in the yard that he'd once attempted to climb. He'd been punished for that too. Not because of the disgraceful behavior, but because he'd failed to accomplish it. Now, that oak was dead and black, shriveled up as though death had taken hold of everything in the Malfoy Manor. Death seemed contagious and he was but an awaiting host for it.

Walking down the path leading to the home with quick and vengeful steps, he looked up to the house that had once been reason to smile for. He remembered himself on holiday, parents beside him, almost home to enjoy a break. Or the times before school had started, going down the path at sunset with dinner on his mind.

The dinners were silent, but they were together- he'd never known what a family dinner was like outside of this formal setting. However, dinner in Malfoy Manor was also an opportunity to try and speak to father since he was no longer in his office or writing to everyone on the Board of Magic.

Now, around him, death had penetrated every living thing. Greens turned to swamp-like browns and colors were shades of grey. All just remnants of a place he'd once called home, now it was just a memory. An empty shell of disaster.

Draco stepped up to the door, two large wooden doors that elves had used to open for him. Draco had almost paused.

He went to grab the handle, it would mark the first time he'd ever done so at his own home. Pulling it open, he allowed Potter who stood behind him to take it as he entered the home.

Murmuring came from behind him as they shuffled into what he'd once called home. Now it felt wrong, foreign and different. Home. It was a word that made him think of the burrow now, and shameful...shameful that was.

The marble walls, architecturally a work of classic art, made him remember his mother's cold skin.

He wondered where they would've found his father's body.

his fingers touched the envelope in his parka's pocket, feeling the sharp edges again, crisp still.

He brought it from his pocket, holding it carefully in his hands.

Did he want to know?

He put it back into his pocket.

The silence consumed him.

_'Sperm and egg donors...'_

Anger flooded him.

Emotion overwhelmed him.

"It's beautiful." Molly whispered, clearing her throat, "It's very nice."

Draco's attention cut to Mrs. Weasley, looking from her to her patched luggage lying beside her. He closed his eyes for just a second longer than a blink, cleared his throat and nodded towards the stairs.

"Rooms are up there.." He murmured a cold reply, walking with his own monogrammed luggage in his hands, leading them up the marble stairs.

A sense of fear drained him of any remaining color might be in his cheeks. Up those stairs, an arched doorway entered into a great hall. A long table sat there and at the front of it, with all his fearfully regal air, had always sat Voldemort.

The shaky breaths of fearful followers remained echoing throughout those halls, never leaving. Voldemort's breathy laughter, always ill-placed, similarly would never leave the realms of Draco's mind.

As he got to the landing however, and looked into that grand room, not a soul was to be seen, a sound to be heard, except the whispers of his following band of Weasel's and the footsteps against marbel floor.

He rounded to the next flight of stairs quickly, hoping that if he left the scene, nothing would change. At the landing, hallways ran alongside both ways and in the middle, a seating room like a common area at Hogwarts was placed lavishly before them. Chandelier and all.

"This first room to the left...that's my room. Any others are yours, it doesn't matter." Draco replied coldly, moving towards his door, "Bathrooms are-"

Draco's words cut dry in his mouth as he looked upon the common area, a large stain rested on the rug and caught his eye. It was a deep rust colored stain that made Draco stand frozen and rooted to his spot. It was a puddle of blood, spray surrounding the area like someone had slit their throat.

A slow, agonizing death. Nothing short but justice for a traitor, it was a merciful death for a disloyal train wreck of a man. He probably found peace in knowing he was about to die. Knowing it was over.

He stepped towards it cautiously, leaning over and eyeing the crust that attached itself to every fiber.

Draco turned from the stain, pulling his eyes away from it forcefully. "I'll have to get one of the elves to clean that up.."

"Is that...? It's a blood stain." Ron said flatly, as though to try and get an answer from Malfoy that would explain his flippant behavior. He was so sure that it must be from...

Draco didn't reply to his statement, "Like I was saying, bathrooms are at the end of each hall."

"How can you...How can you do that? You know blo-..._right_ well what that is!"

Draco gripped his luggage harder in his hands, "Because I'm a _Malfoy _and you're a _Weasley_. That's the difference isn't it? It's what you keep saying."

"Even for you, Malfoy...That's sick."

"It's like you finding _my_ blood stain, Weasley. Would you _mourn_ over it? You'd feel disgust before you felt _anything_."

"You seemed rightly happy with your father when you laughed at us at the World Cup."

Draco remembered that day, the day he made it a point to laugh at the weasel, to impress his father of course. The day his father had forced him to stay silent throughout the entire game for fear of offending the Minister. The day that his father had forgotten he'd even brought him with. A day like any other.

Draco set his luggage down beside his door and the others slowly walked towards the halls, waiting momentarily for Draco's response.

"_Apologies_, Weasley."

"I'm not asking for your fake apologies, Malfoy. I'm asking for a bloody explanation."

"It wasn't fake." He murmured, "I owe you an apology. I _don't_ owe you an explanation."

Draco opened his door, giving a slightly interest Harry only a glimpse of his room. He saw a large, lavishly draped bed that looked like a sea of emerald. A dark wardrobe was beside a marble fireplace, against a window, draped with curtains similar to the bed, an oak desk made a completed study with a black high-backed chair.

Before he could take note of anything else, the door was shut and Harry was left with the others to find a room.

He looked to Ron and Hermione.

"He's sick...sick and...and.._mad _I tell you."

"Find a room, Ron." Hermione murmured.

Ron gave her an expression of shock, but this expression was greeted with Hermione's back as she went to search for a room with Ginny down the opposite hall. She chose one directly next to hers.

"Why's everyone treating me like _I'm _the ass?" Ron asked Harry quietly, "What on Earth did _I _do to-"

"His father has _died_, Voldemort's out to kill him _and _his mum, he's in charge of his entire estate, he's a little stressed at the moment I'd think would be safe to say."

"This is bloody _Malfoy _we're talking about Harry."

"He's still a human being."

"B-But _you _saw the way he talked about that...his _father's _puddle of blood there."

"Come off it." Harry murmured, shaking his head as he passed by him.

Ron swallowed, looking back to the puddle of blood on the carpet.

Lucius Malfoy. The blood of Lucius Malfoy, Draco's father.

Never, could he speak of his father's death like that- he wouldn't even know what to do if he was in such a position as to see his own father's blood and the exact place where he took his last breath. The remains of a violent death left behind, absorbed by material right before his eyes, reminding him that he couldn't save him.

But did Lucius Malfoy deserve to be mourned? To be raised by Lucius...a death eater, a prestigious blood-purist, a cold darkness.

How would it feel to be the spawn of something so murderously evil and frigid? Did Draco ever feel any comfort in the arms of a man like him? How could he? Did Lucius even open his arms to his son? Or was Draco...just an heir?

Ron could see the worry in Draco's eyes when he spoke of his mother. He knew Draco was human, but cold as he was, could he blame it entirely on him? Or were those genes inherited by his father? Or was he left cold, untouched by his parents for so many years, that the cold seeped into his brain and caused him to be that way?

To imagine being raised by Lucius Malfoy...

Ron looked at the blood stained carpet, a reminder of Lucius' presence on this earth and his exit.

Was there something more to being a father than having contributed to the conception of your child? Was there something more than biologics? Inside, Ron knew there was.

To imagine...

A man so harsh, so critical, unforgiving, unemotional that he may as well be a dementor, for _that _man to be your father.

Would he cry at the sight of that blood pool?

Or would his three days of mourning end with nothing left but bitter feelings like Malfoy?

Ron looked at Draco's door once more, he heard nothing but quiet chattering from his family down the halls. Silence came from that door. Not even the rummaging of clothes, not the rustling of curtains, nothing. Absolute silence.

Ron turned to the door that was a couple feet down, opposite of Malfoy's room, and opened the door.

Inside was a large bed, custom made surely for it was too big to be labeled by any size. Spread across was dark purple silk. The room was a white marble beauty, contrasted only by a wardrobe. A large window gave him a view of a garden, dying and wilted but perhaps the memory of something beautiful.

_That_ was something to mourn over.

* * *

Malfoy stared out his window, looking at the front gate as though he were the house's guardian. Watching every leaf shake when the wind blew. Something inside of him was fearful of a careless death eater winding up at the gates. He knew this was near impossible- never would they disobey obvious direct orders of Voldemort's.

Never.

Would they?

No.

Draco thought over Goyle's letter once more, which described in detail, that both his parents were in fact dead. Outright, it hadn't been stated his mother was in fact definitely dead, however, one could catch a quick and easy clue.

Draco understood his mother was dead- attempting to find a loophole simply didn't work when the phrasing was _'sperm and egg donors'._

But, in truth, what he was waiting from that gate was either a miracle in the form of his mother, or a disaster in the form of Voldemort.

He was half praying for a figure to appear at the gates, half ready to jump from the window in case one did.

Here he was in his bed again, a grey layer of dust blanketed the entire mansion. His mother would come in his room any second now with a thin, weary smile and say, _"Draco, come down. Lets walk through the garden." _And she'd outstretch her hand.

She just wanted to hold her son for another day, to know he loved her and for him to know she loved him. To talk for just a moment. To remind him his father was just so busy, and that he was just making sure we had a place in the new world when it came, and to tell him how much he looked like him with every passing day.

To hug him. To hug him and feel how tall he'd gotten. To cry, when Draco hugged her back, because she never thought he could love a woman so worthless as her.

To feel her baby was still hers for just a moment.

Draco gripped the blankets, wishing it could be as it was. That Narcissa _would _open the door in her quiet, meek, way and smile and reach for his hand and...

And he wished now, as much as he had hated it, that she could be there to remind him that his father loved him and...

And...

Dead.

Voldemort had killed her and for what reason? An unjust, unreasonable punishment.

And now, his mission was for the sake of saving his own skin by now. Not his parents. None of it was for them now. All just for him.

Draco stood from the bed, moving towards the window, and set his hands down on the desk, leaning forward to lean in as closely as possible to the glass. He was planning to remember the way his view had used to look when he felt something against his hand. Something too familiar.

He looked down to see a letter.

On the front, in the beautiful cursive Narcissa had been forced to learn as a young witch, read something even more familiar than the texture of an envelope.

Words his mother had written on little notes passed beneath his door as a silly game when he was younger, words that were a passcode to let him know the words were hidden beneath magic. To let him know he had to use the spell they'd created together in order to uncover these words. He had saved every one of those in the trunk at the foot of his bed secretly, and this wasn't one of them. It was fresh parchment, closed with an unbroken wax seal.

_'To my Dearest Draco, Only to my Dearest Draco.'_


	6. The Letter

Draco thought back from what seemed like forever ago, on Dumbledore and his conversation.

He said that in time, his mind would work through the complexities of his mind. He said that in the sorting and through the grief, he would be given a window to grieve. His emotions would become raw and brittle to a point that he would finally mourn properly as to try and mend his heart.

But still.

No tears could be found for his father.

The man he enjoyed calling bastard twice as much as Potter.

Night brought unusual thoughts to his head, sometimes wicked, but most times ugly, so he held the letter in his hands he still didn't open though he wanted nothing more than to do it. Fearful, however, that it would be emotional draining for him to read his mother's last words, he put it off until tomorrow sometime.

He couldn't handle it at the moment.

Usually...the night brought unusual thoughts to his head, but never, had it brought a knock. Draco checked his watch, reading one twenty-three, and then looked back at his door. The soft rapping came again, so he stood. He inched towards the door, opening it slowly to the darkness in the hall and met with Ron Weasley, illuminated by candlelight.

He'd half expected it to be Mrs. Weasley, unable to sleep again with thoughts of Draco running away or dying from a suddenly rapid infection in his neck. However, he was most certainly looking into the freckled face of Ronald Weasley.

Draco gave him a strange look that matched his strange thoughts, giving him convictions without a single word.

"I wanted to say a few words, Malfoy.." Ron said firmly, swallowing and holding onto his candle a little tighter.

Draco resituated his footing at the door, "This couldn't wait until morning, honestly?"

"No...it couldn't. Doesn't look like you were bloody sleeping anyhow."

Draco opened the door a little wider with great hesitation, allowing Ron to enter the room with the only light coming from a lamp on his desk.

Draco sat atop of his bed again, motioning to the desk chair in a civilized manner that Ron had never truly seen- or had taken notice of.

"I doubt you're here just to sit and stare at me, Weasley." Draco said flatly, and because of his lack of egotistical Malfoy arrogance, Ron simply snorted quietly to himself.

"I needed to say sorry for earlier, to be honest with you, Malfoy."

Draco looked up, having expected some sort of lecture that would end in him kicking the weasel from his room and directing him to either treat him with some respect in his own home or get out. However, such words that he'd prepared on invisible paper in his mind, were suddenly in flames and tossed away. He watched his eyes hit the floor, studying the wooden floors, ashamed.

Draco recognized that look. A face full of shame for something he knew in his heart had been wrong, but in the moment, he'd done it. And nothing could allow him to take it all back now.

"Apologizing to a Malfoy? Shouldn't that be beneath you?"

"Can't you just accept it like a _normal _person, Malfoy? I'm trying my best here...aren't you?"

Draco gave him an odd look briefly, considering his words carefully in his mind. It'd never even occurred to him to even try out such a method as a suitable response.

"I never said I didn't accept it." Malfoy replied hoarsely, he cleared his throat and gave a soft sigh as Ron looked to him, his plain features and watery eyes reflected in the lamp's light.

_Normal person._

Draco shrugged, "Don't you trust me, Weasley?" The words that followed were more lighthearted than Ron had expected to come from Draco's mouth, never had they been exactly civil to each other, and in truth, he hadn't expected to get past Malfoy's door when he first knocked.

He'd anticipated the rejection before he'd even decided to apologize.

"How could I?" Ron asked him quietly, it wasn't an attack, meant to be a blow or even a jab, it was just a general statement that made Malfoy swallow down his pride.

"If this is about our petty _feud_..." Draco begun uncomfortably, pausing briefly as the beginnings of words died in his mouth, "...you're being dramatic, Weasley. I expected something like this from Granger, but not you."

Draco would've said, _'If this is about our petty feud, I was never really thinking about you when I said those things, I was thinking of how proud my father might be if I made you cry.' _But he held his tongue. Weasley's temper could flare and take it the wrong way. He was guilty of being self-centered and uncaring, but not of pure evil. His true intentions had been to have something to write to his father about and hopefully get a reply, or have something to tell him at dinner over a holiday break that was considered worthwhile in his father's eyes. Anything to be granted a smirk or a pat on the back.

His hatred for Ron Weasley and his family grew out of his hatred for the happy smile on his face that he wanted to rip from his face so many days, especially when he felt worthless and hopeless and undeserving of the Malfoy name. When he worried over his future that was predestined. When did _Weasley_ have those worries? When did _he_ have no one to turn to? And anxiety eating at him so _fiercely_ that days and weeks bled together?

Never. That's when.

He had a welcoming love family and two friends who hugged him when he felt emotion take him, he had the support of his peers at all times, he had a girl who fawned over him since they'd first met, he had boyish charm and parents who couldn't be prouder.

He used _that_ fuel to hate him. Similar fuel was used for Potter and Granger.

His fuel was ultimately and nothing more than pure _jealousy_ and the words his father fed him day and night. Telling him how lazy, disgusting and worthless a poor wizard was, or a mudblood was, or Harry Potter was. Reminding him of his superiority, always.

It mended the holes in his heart and soul and made him feel like Prince Malfoy again, untouchable, perfect, regal. Damn anyone beneath him. _'Right, Father?'_

"You _should_ apologize to Hermione." Ron muttered, "But this has nothing to do with any of that. You were bloody awful to me and my family- especially my sister. You're a slimy git, Malfoy. But...this isn't about any of that." Ron paused, looking him in the eye for a moment or two and tried to recall a single time he'd been this close to Draco without hatred burning inside his heart towards the boy before him, without clenching his fists and reaching for his wand, "You said you had a mission."

"It's about_ that_, then? Perfect idea, Weasley. Have your family ki-"

"Voldemort wouldn't be exactly forgiving to the family taking you in anyhow, Malfoy. It's a bunch of hogs piss if you ask me." Ron bit down on his inner cheek, shaking his head and looking down at the floor again, "Know what? It's fine. I apologized and that's all I came in here for. But..." Ron shook his head slightly, "...I know it's something terrible..isn't it?"

Malfoy looked away, unsure of what to say. Of course it was something terrible, if it was as simple as taking candy away from a baby, he would've done that ages ago. He wouldn't allowed his parent's lives to be taken if it was something _easy _or simply in _bad taste._

"Right. And if you don't even_ try_ to avoid this? What does that make you? Harry and..and Hermione and myself? We could help you...but you won't even give us the bleedin' chance."

Draco looked up to him with suspicion in his eyes.

"You're offering to help me?"

"I'm offering to stop something bad from happening." Ron paused with a hard expression, Draco's suspicion fled from his eyes but a new feeling came, what was it? Guilt? No, something deeper. Humiliation.

"...If you didn't have to do...whatever it is you're supposed to do, and could still save your mother and yourself...wouldn't you let us help you?"

"You couldn't help me. You couldn't help her either...he's killed her."

Ron's eyes snapped into a narrow focus, locking his gaze with his.

"...He's killed her too?"

"Goyle's letter says so." Malfoy replied, "Voldemort's exact words were quoted, actually,...it was a pretty clear message."

"I'm...sorry, Malfoy." The words felt strange on his tongue, but night always gave him a strange feeling, a strange set of mind. Just look at him, he was apologizing to Draco Malfoy in his mansion in his own room.

Ron stood, picking up the candle from the desk and started on his way out the door.

"You don't have to let us help you. If you'd rather just go the easy way and save your own skin? Go ahead, Malfoy. But if you wanted to do that- I think you would've done it a long time ago."

With that, the door shut behind him.

Draco stared at the desk again, the lamp light flickering slightly, the letter looked back at him.

He turned away.

* * *

**Song Bird Sacrifice**

* * *

**Chapter 6**

* * *

Draco smelled something cooking the moment he sniffed the air coming from the bathroom, an aroma that had been missing from the house for a long time.

In a dark blue sweater, charcoal grey dress pants and his usual black dress shoes, he made his way casually down the stairs, giving a longing glance at the large dining room, at that first seat there...the one _he _used to sit in.

Draco pulled his eyes away from that table slowly, clearing the image of Voldemort's pearlescent grey skin and yellowing smile out of his mind as best he could, but the negative image of it was imprinted and couldn't be erased. His hiss and cackle echoed in his mind still.

He walked on, looking at the few and far between photos on small decorate tables. Nothing like the Weasley's home where it was a constant reminder that_ 'family came first'_, here it was a prideful display, no smiling permitted, of the family legacy. A legacy of misery and unhappiness.

One photo, a family photo caught his eye. His father stood there, proud with his nose in the air and a single hand on Draco's shoulder, his expression was slightly more smug than his father's but there was unmistakable resemblance that made Draco almost sick.

He pushed the photo down and turned his gaze away from it, continuing to the kitchen. He went down the next flight of stairs, returning to the foyer where he stared at the front door. Half expecting it to open with the gust of a thousand raiding death eaters.

When he came back to the present, out of his imagination, he found his hand on his wand.

Walking to the opposite side of the foyer, he went through an arch into an entertainment room, then made a right to enter the smaller though still largely grand dining room and cut through this to make it into the kitchen. Draco looked around the corner, it's floor plan was horizontally across the back of the house, Mrs. Weasley was at a stove looking out at the back garden.

She was cooking, as per her usual, enchanted items flying about the kitchen in a whirling wind of magical madness. Cleaning, cooking and all sorts, she was a small ginger tornado of amazing, awe-inspiring energy.

For a moment, he saw blonde hair above a black base in lieu of red, put in a traditional sort of updo. Pale skin with a thin sheen of sweat and a pink smile that matched her cheeks. It was Narcissa. It was also nothing more than an illusion based off a distant memory. But he'd take it for as long as it'd last.

She'd motion for him to come join her. He'd smile.

And though typically Draco wasn't really supposed to help with matronly tasks such as cooking, she'd set him to work and he'd enjoy it in secret. Giggle and laugh together like old women, throw flour on each other and he'd ask some of the most important questions on his mind at the moment. Until his father came in, in which he was scolded and sent to his room to change. Behind his door, he'd hear mother quietly laugh as his father begged for her stop allowing Draco to do _'woman's work'. _It made him smile too, because he knew it'd happen again.

Though helping in his mother in the kitchen had stopped at around fourteen, he wished he hadn't presently. He wished she was still here and he could be beside her now. Much older, but none wiser and still asking his mother questions that he knew he could never ask his father. He wished he was able to laugh with her...just one last time.

When Voldemort came back into power, she only cooked when she had to, but no longer enjoyed it. There weren't eager boys to feed anymore, there were worried men who barely poked at food. And she herself, felt anxiety when left in a room alone for too long, so cooking was more of a chore than anything towards the end.

Draco wished that his last memories had been of her with a healthy glow to her skin and bustling around a kitchen, house elves waiting to help. A clean, song bird like laughter in the air.

Something in his heart suddenly pained him, and though his hand reached up to clutch, his hand fell back to his side as Molly Weasley turned from the stove and smiled.

She motioned for him to join her.

And that pain only intensified.

He swallowed it back down and stepped forward, walking towards her as she shook her pan of sizzling bacon.

"Hope you don't mind me using the kitchen." Molly laughed to herself quietly.

"Where did you find this? We haven't had this much food in our house in a long time." Draco asked quietly, confusion forming on his face as he looked down at the hearty amount of meat being prepared.

"I sent Arthur to the market this morning." She replied with a small smile.

Draco looked to the clock on the wall, reading seven fifteen.

"It's...seven fifteen?"

"_Early _this morning."

Draco smirked a little and crossed his arms, trying to rid the pain that panged inside his chest cavity and rippled through his entire body resulting in a strange form of lethargy and a burning in his sinuses.

"I'll pay you back for this." Draco said suddenly, attempting to distract himself, "For...what you've done for me. You'll be compensated..._handsomely_."

"Set the table, will you?" Molly replied, a warm hand landing on his shoulder for a moment just before she slid the pan of grease carefully into an empty tin and then the bacon onto a plate.

Draco opened the drawer beside him, grabbing forks and knives and then the pre-folded napkins. Currently, doing the duties of a house elf, he wondered how his father would react to such a sight.

He exited the kitchen through the archway, setting the table that was already beginning to house a few Weasley's. Harry entered the room, giving a surprised look to Hermione as Draco set the table in a humble manner. Hermione sat beside Ron in a genial way.

"Good morning, Draco." She said, taking a chance, letting go of the silent fear in her that said he'd call her mudblood and embarrass her in front of the Weasley's.

If he did, she'd simply smile and look away.

Draco simply looked at her, surprised, "...Good morning...Hermione."

Malfoy waited for any further response, but got only a nod from Harry who sat beside Hermione and as they started to talk amongst themselves, he walked back into the kitchen.

Molly Weasley with a large plate containing heaping piles of sausage, bacon, tomato and hashbrown stood directly before him and he took it with ease, looking into her sparkling eyes and he found a certain spark of joy in there somewhere as he offered his strength to her weakening muscles.

She grinned at him pleasantly, and though he only returned it with a crack of a smile, it was enough for her. She seemed ecstatic, "Full English, today." She yelled from the kitchen, grabbing yet another plate and jug of juice.

He turned back around to the dining room to set the serving platter in the middle of the table.

"Oh, Molly, a Full English Breakfast? What's the occasions, Dear?" Arthur asked happily with a grand smile across his face.

Draco looked back at Mrs. Weasley who re-entered the dining room, sitting the last serving platter which contained eggs mostly and some mushrooms stuffed with melted cheese.

"Draco dear, there's a pot of baked beans in there as well. Would you grab it for me?"

Draco set off to enter the kitchen and founded the pot rather easily, he grabbed it and moved back to the dining room, setting it between the two serving plates, the serving ladle swinging around the side of pot to face Ron.

Draco looked up into the familiar freckled face that had peered through the crack in his door just last night. The memory of his visit re-entered his mind and reminded him of a decision he'd made in the shower that morning.

They made brief eye contact and broke it almost instantly. Draco sat in a seat beside Mrs. Weasley as it was the closest and looked across at Ginny who gave a comforting smile and then turned back to say something to Harry. He looked beside him to the woman that provided something close to security. He knew what he was about to do, something intolerably ignorant of him, but something he had to do.

The voices were in the back of his mind, at the front there was only the words in Goyle's letter, and the words on the front of the newest letter. His mother's last words. Inscribed on a piece of parchment he couldn't even bring himself to open.

And altogether it meant, he truly was, with no doubt left in his mind, the one and only Malfoy left. Everything was left up to him, and at the same time, the pressure was gone. He was free of his father's words and punishments which often in times, could be one in the same thing. Freedom left a bitter taste, and along with it, a sensation of falling. Like he'd been a shackled bird, and now, unshackled, the unfortunate truth was that he'd never learned how to fly.

He rubbed the Dark Mark subconsciously on his arm.

"Help yourself, Draco." Molly said to him, turning to give him a smile and then turned to say something to her husband with a small laugh.

Leave it to a Weasley- Draco turned to look around the table- Leave it to _any _Weasley to find sunshine in utter darkness.

Draco took a few pieces of bacon and a mushroom to appease Mrs. Weasley in the likely chance she'd looked at his plate to make sure he was in fact, helping himself.

He nibbled on it without much thought.

Without his mother to worry over, at least he could do the right thing. If he did die...so be it.

Though it was his own fault for both his parent's deaths, he could at least die a dignified death, doing for the first time in his life, the right thing.

If any of _them _died though...

He looked around the table.

He internally pushed away the thought, deeming it impossible. They wouldn't do anything reckless. Potter, Granger and Weasley had a history of magical unruliness. The others could be safe in this small haven of safety.

When he saw that most were just about through their first plate of food, Draco gained every bit of his focus back together and set the piece of bacon down onto the plate. He wiped his hands on a napkin and took a sip of a glass of water which Mrs. Weasley had set out for everyone. Juice was in a jug, but Draco had decided against partaking in it.

"I don't mean to ruin anyone's breakfast..." Draco started slowly, all conversation abruptly came to an end at the sound of his voice, "...but.., I think it's time you know what my mission is."

It was as though all breathing in the room had stopped.

"Wait, you said we couldn't know because it would endanger us...and your mother as well." Ginny said quickly, "What's changed then?"

Draco looked from her, a dark expression across his face and a darkening gaze in his eyes met Ron's eyes which held their steady gaze.

"In Goyle's letter, he told me my mother was also killed. By Voldemort."

"Oh goodness..." Molly whispered to herself, "...bless her soul."

"I-...I'm so sorry." Ginny shrunk in her seat, eyes widening and choking on her words, "I didn't mean to-"

"You didn't." Draco said quickly, "But with my mother..." He paused, swallowing, "Without her being...a risk..."

"We're gonna help you, Draco." Ron said.

Everyone looked to him in quiet but suppressed shock. Ginny gave a smile to her brother.

"Right." Harry followed, with a nod and leaning in, "Tell us what you're assignment is."

Draco gave a moment silent reprieve, studying on the fact that here he was, face to face with what was once his enemy, about to tell him one of his few dark secrets. One that could get himself killed, and doing it so willingly.

"I'm supposed to kill Professor Dumbledore." Draco said quietly, looking up to Weasley, Potter and Granger who stared back at him, pallid faces unbelieving to his words.

There was a brief pause, "But...why?" Ginny whispered, "Why Professor Dumbledore?"

"...because he knows I can't do it." Draco replied barely above what would be considered inaudible.

A strange feeling that sickened him entered the pit of his stomach, bile rose in his throat which he swallowed quickly, looking away from their wane faces and drawn down expressions.

"You're positive that..." Ginny whispered leaning forward, hands feeling the silky table cloth quietly, she'd been doing it since she'd sat down. "Your mother's..."

She'd never felt anything so beautiful in her life as this table cloth, not since feeling her school uniform for the first time.

Draco looked to her and nodded, "Found a note in my room. I imagine it's her last words. It appears that way."

"You haven't read it?" Ginny countered.

"No."

"Well...you should."

"I know, I-..."

He swallowed down sentences that he forced himself to hold within.

"I know."

* * *

Draco saw just a flash from the window.

He'd been looking through his father's study, looking through books and old papers. Reading them just because his liberation came with such freedoms as this and he'd enjoy the ones he could. But what he was truly looking for, in all honesty, was a single object. His father's cane which also held his wand. Though he did look through books and papers as he scanned desk drawers, it was always the wand on his mind.

He thought he'd keep it in his trunk for safe keeping along with his mothers when he got to search for hers.

However, a flash from the backyard's garden caught his eyes and he pressed himself against the window searching for the form again. Leaving the study and entering the foyer, he made his way through the entertainment room, the dining room, the kitchen, and then out the backdoor to the garden. He started at the arched trellis which begun the pathway through the garden which had once been the talk of all the most powerful wizarding families.

Narcissa had held afternoon tea parties in that garden and small gatherings, and everyone had always been amazed and hypnotized by the natural perfume and the vibrancy of the garden she'd strove to perfect.

Now it was dead.

All around him, blackened, with nothing more than charred husks in it's memoriam.

It looked as though there had been some kind of ashen apocalypse upon the Malfoy house or perhaps even a plague.

And there before him was a woman, on her knees staring into the flowerbeds, pale skin dirtied by the earth, did she hope to find a heartbeat? A sign of life?

Her platinum blonde hair laid against the dark base in the sudden light that blinded him momentarily, but past the glaring morning sun, he knew he saw her. He rushed with large striding steps.

"M-..." He wanted to say it, _'Mum' _and for her to turn to him and smile, apologize and cry on his sweater until it was tear soaked and tell him everything was okay, she was getting them out of this. "Mum." He finally said breathlessly.

Stepping so close to her, it would've been only a short few strides until he got to her, but out of the sun, his face that had brightened for the first time in many weeks, turned into the deepest frown ever to be recorded on Draco Malfoy's face.

He realized then, it was nothing more than an illusion.

His heart sank and the woman turned around, getting to her feet with a sympathetic smile, "Sorry, dear, did you say something? I was looking over the garden...such a sad state it's in. Was it..._alive_ last time you saw it?"

"..I...Yes. Alive. Alive the last time I saw her- I mean.._it_."

Molly noticed the slip of the tongue quickly, and moved her eyes to the prickly bare bushes.

"What a shame."

"Definitely a shame..." Draco murmured to himself.

"Everything becomes new again eventually though, you know. It takes time. Time and a loving, caring hand."

"Some things grow back best when left alone. People kill off their plants by tending to them_ too_ often."

"_Most_ people kill their plants by _forgetting_ that they need love and attention."

Draco remained silent.

He put his hands into his pockets and stared up at the grand house, a place of fiction in his mind now, a place that could never feel like home again. It was like the home in a gothic novel, places he'd imagined exploring when he used to read fictional novels as younger man. A phase had him held in an obsession with murder and mystery, dark skies and black birds.

Now he was living it and it was far from an entertaining notion.

"By looking at your garden here, in the sorry state it's in, you'd think all was lost. But it just needs help, and once it starts becoming green again, it'll heal itself new."

"It's never had to look after itself before, that's why it died so quickly."

"But it'll learn."

Draco looked back at Mrs. Weasley in quiet repose. He slowly took to looking around himself. It did look like a lost cause to him, though he'd always been considered more of a pessimist.

"That'd take work. Why would someone even want to try?"

"...because they can see the beauty in something...no matter how prickly or thorny."

Mrs. Weasley gave a triumphant smile and put her arm around his shoulder carefully, pulling him closer against herself for just one strange moment, her head rested against his head in a maternal way.

"Everything's going to be okay." She said just before releasing him.

It sent him back, back to a time when his mother had told him the same thing. _'Everything's going to be okay, Draco...I promise.' _

His hand grasped at the dark mark on his arm.

And plainly...she'd lied.

* * *

Draco was exhausted. Exhausted in a way he'd never really felt. There was a weight lifted, and another added. It was lighter, but he found it still just as hard to breath. It was tiring, keeping his posture with the weight of his actions resting entirely on his shoulders, but he was here now, and they were probably just as tired, sitting around with him on this uncomfortable antique furniture.

"What if you _told _Dumbledore?" Ginny offered after a few seconds pause from the previous suggestion which had formally been shot down by Harry and Hermione.

Draco looked up from the letter in his lap that he toyed with quietly.

"And what's Dumbledore to do about it? Avoid being killed? If he even got near Voldemort he'd be killed." Draco said, "It wouldn't do much good."

Harry murmured something inaudible to himself, rubbing his thumb against his chin, "Mph."

"He's safer not knowing." Draco added dully.

"For now." Harry noted quickly, crossing his arms across his knees, doubled over in thought.

Draco looked at his rigid posture, and after a moment, a spark came to his mind.

"There's a meeting with the most elite death eaters every month or so. It's around time for one."

"What's that got to do with kicking old Voldy's grey arse?" Fred asked with a smile, to which George ended the quip with, "Gonna kill him with tardiness?"

"Fred Weasley, language." Molly Weasley scolded quickly, "This isn't a laughing matter."

Draco looked between the twins, "I'll attend the meeting as though nothing's wrong as a first step, at the moment, there's not much else we _can _do."

"Right, gain Voldemort's trust that you're still loyal." Hermione continued, "After the meeting, we should be able to plan our next step. Whether we have to tell Dumbledore or not or...what needs to be done."

"But what if you're not invited to this meeting?" Arthur stepped in, "You said it was for the most elite but...but if Voldemort is trying to _disgrace_ your family like you said before.."

"Forcing me to show up after what he's done? That would be Voldemort's sort of tactic as punishment for my belligerence." Draco murmured, "He'll have me show up. He'll punish me and move on."

"Punish you...he wouldn't-" Ginny begun, "Well I mean, go further than to embarrass you?"

Draco knew what she meant, the thought of him standing from the table, taking in a large gasp of air and a smirky look on his face as he said _'Crucio!' _crossed his mind, sending a shiver down his spine. He held the letter tighter. He'd seen it too many times before to be naïve enough to believe he wouldn't do something of the sort. He'd done it more than once to the same person as well, once he'd witnessed him perform cruciatus several times on the same person within minutes to get his point across.

"It's an unpredictable situation." Draco said tightly.

"Occlumency." Harry said suddenly, looking up to Draco.

"What're you saying, Potter?" Draco asked, pulling his fingers from the parchment for a moment.

"Occlumency."

"What of it?"

"If we were to create a connection, you and I, through occlumency, I could know if you were in danger during the-"

"And what if I were? You'd play hero as you always do with your little band of misfits and blow everything. No, if he should punish me, I'll take it."

"Take on the_ cruciatus curse_? What if..." Ginny trailed off, "What if he _killed _you, Draco?"

"Then it's a problem alleviated for you." Draco replied quickly, "You should hope for such a result."

"That's cynical!" Ginny said bitterly, eyes widening, "What an ugly thought!"

"I'm not allowing my mind to be roamed for the sake of the mere _chance _he might punish me. If I leave it open for Potter, I leave it open for him just as well. Don't be so thick."

Harry, Ron and Ginny looked to Hermione for verification.

"It's true..." Hermione said quietly, "...any connection would leave his mind open."

"Then there's nothing more we can do for now, is ther?" Harry asked.

"Other than wait for my invitation? No." Draco replied.

"Then, I suppose the next best thing would be heading off to bed." Mrs. Weasley said with a bitter-sweet expression on her face and a hollow voice.

She looked to Harry who nodded in submission.

Harry had been the one to call for the meeting. She'd seen him throughout the day, sitting in the upstairs library with Hermione and her two youngest children. All quiet save for the occasional whisper. She couldn't make out their words, but Harry looked intensely around his surroundings every time she got the chance to peek into the room. He had always been slightly obsessive.

Draco watched the others standing from their spots on the couch, love seat, or various chairs around the room they'd brought to the small circle.

"Oh, good. I'm exhausted.." Ron moaned dramatically, "God, it's nearly eleven thirty..."

"Is that late for you?" Hermione asked humorously with a smile playing at her lips, "I thought you might be the type to read for hours and hours and-..."

"Shut it, Hermione..."Ron said sourly as she bumped into him on her way towards the staircase, Harry laughed quietly, cracking a nervous sort of smile. He looked back behind himself just one last glance, before catching up with his friends at the first landing.

Draco removed his foot from his opposite leg, uncrossing them quickly as he begun to stand.

Arthur waited patiently beside his wife, offering a hand to her.

"Go ahead, Arthur." She replied to him with a reassuring look, "I'll be there in a moment."

He looked at her worn expression for just a moment, then nodded, "Love you, Dear." And turned away, walking off to the staircase along with the others.

A distant, "Look at _that_, George. Didn't see _that _the first time I walked through here."

And a, "Serpent eating it's own tail? Decorative touch, wouldn't you say, Fred?"

"Don't you two have work sometime soon?" Arthur asked, his voice beginning to become muffled.

Drifting further and further from the living area downstairs in the foyer where Draco was making his leave, the voices finally became silent.

"Draco."

"Good night, Mrs. Weasley." He said, moving past her.

Her hand grasped out and clasped his wrist gently, "Wait a moment, young man."

Draco looked to her with a strange curiosity playing in his eyes, "What've I done?"

"Sit, sit. C'mon."

She patted the spot beside her and moved to the left to give him some more room. She faced him at an angle and wrapped her shawl around herself a little tighter.

"Today's been hard for you, I know. But I couldn't help but notice you still haven't opened that letter."

He looked down at it and shook his head, "No, was going to in my room tonight."

"Were you?"

He narrowed his eyes, "Yes. I was."

She paused momentarily, imagining the strength she would've had to muster from her soul to manage to be able to hold the letter of her mother's last words in her hands and open it alone, in a dark room, and read every apologetic word on the page, every shakily written letter in a rush to tell her child, her baby, she was going to die.

His gaze softened as she stared into his eyes. His face fell and he couldn't bare to watch her face turn to pity. Pity for _him_. A murderer.

"Don't pity me." He whispered, "Don't. This is what I deserve."

"Deserve? She asked him quietly, "Deserve what? This isn't something you _deserve_, this isn't a time of testing. It's just... something you have to do. You're mother didn't write this for you for you to put it off like you have everything else. You can't deny the truth."

"You think I'm in denial?" Draco asked acidly, "I'm facing the truth more than _anyone_ else here. I'm going to be _killed_ for being a traitor to Voldemort. I'll be pitched from the highest tower and tortured until I take my last breath and you sit back and call it _cynical_. I call it the _truth_. So how dare _you _think I'm in denial."

"And refusing to read the crime report of your father's death? Or your mother's last note? What is _that_?"

Draco fell silent, shaking his head as he felt the familiar burn come again, "Last words are nothing but...but _words_. What does it matter what she says in here? It doesn't change anything. So _why_ read it? Why live in the past when my _future's_ what's at stake?"

"Because you're _stuck _in the past and if you want to go anywhere, you have to fix _that _first."

Draco's hands shook, the letter crumbling in his hands at his protective grasp, "Well,...Well,...I-..._I can't do it_." He admitted finally, in a release of breath, quietly, it was barely above a whisper and so shocking, Mrs. Weasley thought she hadn't even heard him right at first.

His voice trembled, "I can't do anythin'. I couldn't complete my mission, even for them, my parents. Even when I _knew _their lives would be on the line- I thought I had all this _time_. And now, I can't even _avenge_ them. I can't-..." He trailed off, "...can't do _anythin'_..." His voice dropped considerably, trembling in the sofa beside her, but not a single tear had came from him during that time.

Just fearful energy, burning like a candle's light in the form of words. Pent up frustration draining from his soul in a string of self-hate.

Molly Weasley, took him by the shoulder for the third time that day, but this time, didn't just bring him closer, but brought him into her arms. She held him firmly, despite his initial struggle and he felt the fear radiate from his heart and suddenly disappear to some unknown location, away from him, and gone for now. With the absence of her arms, it'd probably come back to tear through him and nestle in his brain somewhere like a nervous tick.

But for now, in this woman's arms that earlier he'd almost called mum, the feelings of guilt and hatred, anger and sadness, they left him, leaving a hollow hole in his heart that was filled with the warmth of a loving embrace.

In his imagination, he wrapped his arms back around her and held her tight, but in reality he fell limp just after struggling for release. He was shaking, he was humiliated, he was on the verge of sobbing and allowing every tear he wanted to roll down his face just fall, but he didn't. He held his jaw together tight, her chin resting on his shoulder and arms holding his breaking pieces together.

"Let's read it now, hm?" She whispered tentatively, "Together."

She unlatched herself from around him, looking at the letter that was now left in his lap. He took it into his hands again, smoothing the crumpled paper, and swallowed quietly, "Speak of that to no one.." He whispered, just the phantom of tragic humor on his lips as he re-read the front of the letter.

She nodded, wiping the small tear that had gathered in her eye secretly as he whispered something against the paper and the seal broke.

Mrs. Weasley watched him slowly and his expression change from placid surrender to something beyond. A look of shock, a look of fear, but most of all, a look of humiliating deceit.

Molly Weasley closed her eyes, flinching, at the sound of every window in the manor shattering to a million pieces.

* * *

**A/N: I don't leave many notes, so please read this one! I want start off by saying that I barely wrote any of this chapter before I wrote this Author's Note. I found it deeply important I make sure to write this in here. I got so many great reviews from last chapter and though I'd like to PM each of you with a lengthy, 'Thank You!' I don't want to annoy any of you and scare you off. So I decided to leave my large THANK YOU down here so you could chose to read this if you had the time and not be bothered with my annoying gratitude.**

**Leave a review if you have time, I promise each are read with SO many smiles. You guys make my day. **

**I love you guys, thanks for reading and reviewing when you have the time! It makes me SO motivated to write the next chapter when I get just a couple good reviews.**


	7. Goyle

"Wha-? Wha's going on?" Mr. Weasley murmured as he made his way down to the first landing.

A sudden shatter had jolted him up from the bed where he'd just been dosing off as he attempted to wait on his wife Molly in the chance she might want to talk to him over her conversation with Draco.

However, he could guess how the conversation was going based on the shattering.

On the first landing, joining in with the others who'd already gathered there, he looked around nervously at their wide-eyed faces.

Shouting could be heard from downstairs, but the exact words were echoing against the marble, making it impossible to understand fully what the commotion was about. A distinct voice, one he recognized as Malfoy's, shouted, _"Read it!" _and that's all he could make out from the frantic conversation.

Arthur looked down at the oldest of his son whose eyebrows were raised and eyes were darting about the room, watching Draco.

"Bill? What's happening?" Arthur asked, standing at his son's side in confusion, looking down at the foyer to see Draco, hands furiously pushing his hair back, his eyes blazing in panic as he paced the floor.

Molly was standing too, looking from the disregarded letter on the couch to Draco.

"I dunno...Something about that note Malfoy's mum left him."

Arthur gave a nod, placing his hand on his son's shoulder momentarily before he bustled down the stairs, "Molly?"

She had the letter in her hands by this point, scanning it with shaky hands. She blinked suddenly, her eyes stopping on a line and then re-read it two or three times.

_'...was only protecting you...'_

_'...I don't expect you to forgive me...'_

"What is it, dear?"

_'...I had to kill him..for you...for us...'_

_'...never tell anyone about this letter...you need the inheritance...'_

"What's it say?"

_'...you'll never find me...'_

_'...don't try...'_

_'...my note...'_

_'...love, always love, your mother.'_

"...She killed him, Arthur..." She whispered in a faint breath.

Arthur's eyebrows knitted together, opening his mouth, closing it, and then opened it again shaking his head in deep confusion. He felt as though he should be catching on, but found it impossible to grasp a single idea as to what she could be saying.

"She...killed...she killed...?...Wait. Who, now?"

Molly shook her head, looking to Draco who'd now resulted to sitting in an arm chair, head in his hands, and even at the coaxing of Ginny who pleaded him to say _something_, refused to speak a single word. Harry bent down, crouching on the balls of his feet.

"What's happened, Malfoy? C'mon."

"Don't act so concerned, Potter." Draco murmured defeated, "It doesn't change anything...Nothing for _you _anyway."

Draco looked up, releasing a breath of air, "This whole legacy is a joke is all. The _Malfoy name_. What a fucking joke this all is. I'd like nothing more than to watch this entire house burn."

He stood, apparently having regained himself enough to pull his sweater down correctly and correct his hair. "Birnbaums!" He shook with every syllable come from his throat, "Birnbaums, _now_, you filthy creature!"

A squawking noise could be heard and the beating of powerfully small wings as it descended slowly down the flight of stairs, moving towards his owners with noisy agitation. The eagle owl found himself suddenly on Malfoy's arm as Draco grabbed his talon quickly with a dexterous hand. The owl didn't oppose to the contact though, focusing in on Draco's destined goal which was apparently his father's study which was located just to the right of the stairs.

"Draco? What're you doing?" Ginny asked shakily, turning around and holding her hands together in front of her nervously.

"Liar. I knew Goyle couldn't be trusted." Draco murmured, "Either him or Voldemort..."

"What did the letter say, Mrs. Weasley?" Harry asked, turning to her who still had the letter in her hands.

Her anxious gaze had been focused on Malfoy, teary eyes slowly tore from him and went back down to letter.

"Mrs. Weasley?"

The sound barrier she'd created around herself broke, and she looked back up to Harry with a certain urgency.

"She killed him...and ran away..."

"Who?" Harry asked, "Who killed who, Mrs. Weasley?"

"...His mother. Mrs. Malfoy..."

"Killed who?"

"...Mr. Malfoy..."

Harry looked back in utter disbelief, turning from her to look at the others who were equally shocked at the sudden news.

"It says so in that letter?" Hermione asked, "From Draco's mother?"

"Yes...yes it says so right..." Mrs. Weasley looked at it nervously, shook her head and then extended her arm, "Here. Take it..."

Hermione looked at it hesitantly, but curiosity got the better of her and she grabbed it carefully, "Should I...?" Hermione looked to Harry.

Harry looked at the mad dash Draco was in, knocking things over in his father's study in some sort of obsessive search for a quill as could be gathered from his broken mutterings.

"Malfoy. Malfoy, if you wont explain things, we'll read the letter."

"Read it then!" Draco yelled, still preoccupied with the desk, "You'll get your way in the end anyway, Potter, you always do."

"Yes, "Harry nodded to Hermione, "Read it aloud."

Hermione looked from the shakily scribed letters back to Harry who looked at it carefully, with gentle understanding eyes.

"This should be private..." Hermione whispered, "It doesn't feel right."

"But if it's relevant to what's happening..." Harry trailed, knowing that Hermione could fill in blanks as obvious as these.

She looked back to the page of calligraphic letters, written with a careful hand, but not a steady one. She swallowed.

"Dearest Draco," She begun softly, "Time is wearing thin, and I have much to say. When you get this letter, you'll have found out your father has died and probably, you'll presume I'm dead too with what's been happening lately. It's confusing times, and that's why I've had to take such extreme measures. Since I held you in my arms for the first time after you were born, I wanted nothing more than to protect you from the evil in this world, and living the life your father and I do, we've done nothing but introduce you to it. I went along with your father Lucius because I loved him. Foolishly. And foolishly, I accepted it when he convinced me so many years ago that being beside the Dark Lord was safer than being at the other end of his wand. I wanted to believe that. So desperately." Hermione paused, swallowing and looking up to Harry.

He nodded slightly for her to keep going and she took in a breath, looking back down to the letter.

"Voldemort doesn't have me. Nothing of the sort that you'll read in the papers. I know you're confused but I've kept this from you until now because I'm trying to protect you. When I saw what your father and I were doing to you, I couldn't allow this to go on. I don't expect you to forgive me, but understand me. Your father wasn't killed by Lord Voldemort like you would assume. I..." Hermione lost her breath at the following words and shakily brought a hand to her mouth, "..._I _killed him. I had to, for you, for us. It wasn't easy, but it was even harder watching you struggle like this. It'll be hard to overcome this, I know. And I'm sorry for the irreversible damage I've done to your life already, but this was the only way I could repair what I'd done wrong, because my first mistake in life was allowing a child to enter this world in the conditions I knew your life would be in. When I found out you were a boy, I wept. I hoped you would be a girl because I knew your father wouldn't have had anything to do with you, and life would've been so much different for you. It was in these unfortunate circumstances you were born into that your father and I also grew up in. Pomp, prestige...but murder was something I knew you could never do. Because I still remember the little boy who whispered his first crush in my ear and threw flour in my hair. A murderer was never something you were meant to be, and you know that in your heart."

Hermione stifled herself for a moment and then continued slower to maintain herself.

"Never tell anyone about this letter, Draco. You need your inheritance, and though this wouldn't prevent you from it, it would slow the process considerably. Trust me. I know the ministry and their functions. Promise me you'll never look for me. Don't try because you won't find me and it will only lead in worthless searching and end in wasted time. Because, Draco, this letter is not just a confession, but also, my note. Without me, you'll find life as a Malfoy easier. I assume the Dark Lord will forget about you with your father being gone, but if he doesn't, run, join the other side, something. But never give in to him. Never lie down without a fight."

Hermione's eyes dropped a little lower.

"Love, always love, your mother."

"Send this to Goyle, quickly." Malfoy said to Birnbaums, placing the note in his talon's pouch forcibly. The owl flew through the window's empty space, soaring into the night sky, quickly as Draco had instructed.

"Loathsome creature..." Draco murmured to himself.

"Draco, I'm so sorry." Ginny whispered, "About..."

"Forget it. Evidently I'm just lied to left and right so-" Draco stopped himself quickly with fury in his eyes, " I'm tired of hearing pity."

"What'd you send him?" Harry asked, "Goyle, I mean."

"I told him to come over tomorrow morning." Draco replied, "I'll confront him on his letter. He told me Voldemort killed them."

"Don't tell him about your mother's note. What if Goyle told Voldemort?"

"So be it."

"But, " Ginny begun hurriedly, "If Voldemort _did _say the things Goyle's said he has, he wants you to believe he's killed your parents. You want Voldemort's full trust at the moment and he wants _you _to believe he's powerful."

Draco was silent at these words.

"Tell him he's a liar, but don't provide proof." Bill suggested slowly, "If what he says is true, he won't suspect you're talking about your parents. At least, not right away. considering Goyle isn't the brightest, he'll think you're just in denial."

"Denial. Goyle would love to see that, wouldn't he?" Draco whispered, pushing his hands into his pockets, "Disgusting rat. I'd sooner have my head on his wall than him assume I've gone mad."

"Then blow it, Malfoy. Open your fat mouth. But in the end, you'll pay for it." Ron said.

"And what'd _you _know, Weasley?" Draco asked, "Do you know how frustrating it is to be on top and fall to rock bottom? To lose everything you had in the manner of _days_? No, because _you've _never been at the top to know."

Ron grit his teeth in anger, "Everytime, Malfoy, we bloody try to help and you come back with these snobby remarks and I'm bleeding well done with it! I'm sorry this happened. I'm sorry your mother killed your own father and killed herself in the end, leaving nothing else but a sodding note. I'm sorry you're a death eater and can't escape it. You're right, _I'll never know what it feels like _but when we do nothing but try and...and _help_ you and all you do is step on us? You can fuck off."

Malfoy swallowed hard, looking from him to the floor and releasing a few pent up breaths in harsh labored gasps. He wanted to yell back, scream at the top of his lungs at that freckle faced bastard, but as hard as he balled his fists in rage and grit his teeth in frustration, the words couldn't come to his mouth.

Because everything he'd said was true. Painstakingly true.

He looked around in blinding red at the mess he'd made of the windows and released one last breath of air, allowing his shoulders to fall back down to his sides.

"...You're right. I lost my temper." Draco said finally, in a voice glossed with forced apology, because if not, he'd scream, "...Excuse me."

With that, he made his way towards the stairs again, snatching the note from Hermione's hands, and made his way towards his bedroom.

"What he said was wrong, Ron. You had every right to yell." Hermione said carefully, "But don't let it get to you. He's just...frustrated, I suppose. He's said worse after all."

Ron lowered his eyebrows, squinting his eyes and clenching his fists. He swallowed back a few words and gave a breath.

"Yeah."

Because in the end...what she said was true.

Painstakingly true.

* * *

**Song Bird Sacrifice**

* * *

**Chapter 7**

* * *

There was a courteous knock, a rapt that came three times from the foyer.

"Stay here." Malfoy instructed, standing from the dining table, at the worried look he garnered from Ginny, he paused, "Goyle wouldn't dare_ touch_ you. He's breaking death eater law enough being here. I'm surprised he even showed." Draco trailed as he stood from his seat, moving towards the foyer. He looked at the half repaired windows which he'd started on earlier that morning with some help from Mrs. Weasley. He'd remained mostly silent.

She'd given him some advice for the most of the time.

He thanked her for forgiving him one last time. He reminded her she'd have to forgive him multiple times more, more than likely. He explained he couldn't control his mouth sometimes.

He went silent.

She said she already knew. A mother's always prepared to forgive.

...a mother...

Draco released his anger in the form of a breath, felt his palms turn warm and drip with sweat as he opened the door, slitted eyes looking back into the eyes of Greg Goyle who gave him a smug smile.

"Hiding out here then? I see you read my letter, Malfoy."

"Going against death eater law, Goyle? Funny. Took you for a suck arse."

Goyle snorted, pushing his way inside with a smile on his face and shook his head, "When'll you learn, Malfoy? Talk to your superiors with some respect. I always did..." his voice turned dangerously low, his eyes sparkling with something menacing and dark. "What'd you want, anyway? Last time you asked me to come over-"

"Never mind _that_. I wanted to call you out, _Greg. _For being a liar. A filthy traitor."

Goyle gave a sneaky grin, "A _liar _now? That's what I am? You don't believe me then, is that it? Why would I lie? You're home _is _forbidden grounds. You _are _expected to go through with your mission,...is there something I'm missing?"

Draco swallowed.

Then those _had_ been Voldemort's words?

_'..sperm and egg donors..'_

Goyle laughed a little, sniffing the air, "Oh. What's that smell, Malfoy? Smells like breakfast. Mind I drop in for a bite?" Goyle started towards the living area, "Don't worry, I've been here so many times...I know where the dining room is."

Draco narrowed his eyes.

Did that statement have some significance? He'd been there for meetings, but never had he been on some grand tour of the house. He'd only ever been over to his home twice before Voldemort had resurrected, neither times had he stayed for more than an hour.

He followed him in closely.

"I didn't invite you over to feed your fat face, Goyle." Malfoy said hurriedly as he made his way through the living area, Draco followed him close behind.

"Oh, what do we have _here_?" He said with a jovial uplift in his voice, "A happy little family, eh?...Oh, and look...Potter, Granger...Everyone's here."

Goyle looked around, fixing his stiff dress shirt collar and suit jacket. He looked upon Ginny Weasley with mild interest and situated his dark red tie.

"Adorable." He mocked, "Adorable little Weasley girl, is she a pet of yours, Draco?"

"Leave them out of this, Goyle," Draco begun through gritted teeth, "this has _nothing _to do with them."

"It has _everything _to do with them!" He yelled, jolting around to face Draco with a drained complexion, catching his breath in small gasps of air

Draco watched his expression then slowly transform. Recollecting his thoughts, Goyle turned his lips into a half erected smile to form a psychologically disturbing picture across his face, beady black eyes opened, boring into Draco's fiery gaze.

"Well? Aren't you going to ask?"

"Ask what?" Draco replied quickly, "Why you _lied_ to me?"

"Lied about _what_?" He laughed again, shaking his head, "God, this is getting _old_. No. I meant. Are you going to ask why I've been here so many times? Weren't you listening to me, Malfoy?"

"I heard what you said. I choose to ignore almost everything you say and have so since the day we met and realized half of what comes out of your mouth is worth the price of shat."

Goyle's eyes intensified, angered obviously. "I came over when you were gone. All those times I couldn't be reached? I came _here_."

Draco snorted, "And for what reason would that be?"

Goyle remained silent for a moment, "Look at you. Have you grown thinner? God, anymore and you'll be a little girl, Malfoy." Goyle joked darkly, "Do you think you're the only one whose had something taken from them? When Voldemort killed your mother, you weren't the only one mourning."

"What'd you...What're you saying?" Draco asked rockily, he felt like a bird against California shores, fighting against the mountainous waves and the winds on a fall morning. Shivering in an inevitable breeze, unable to take cover now that he was in his position.

"You're so dense anymore, Draco!" Goyle laughed, coming closer to him with every step, "Narcissa _hated _your father. And I could appreciate her far more than he ever could- his only love was his wine bottle. I _fucked_ your mother, Draco. She liked it too."

Malfoy balled his hands up again, feeling his heart skip a beat. He did remember those times. When Goyle was unavailable, or simply didn't respond to his letters over holidays. Never did he think a single thought about it. Goyle was always so stupid..so ignorantly naïve...-No. No, he was lying. Attempting to play a mind game, he was getting at _something_.

"_Liar._ Fucking_ liar_." Draco stuck to his senses. Goyle was simply attempting to rub salt in new wounds...and rub it in with his fingernails.

"Oh well. Don't believe me." Goyle shrugged, walking behind Ginny, his hand reaching out to touch her hair softly.

Arthur, Bill, Harry and the twins stood, giving Goyle glares of unwavering hatred, Goyle responded with a daring eyebrow raise to each of them.

"Get away from her.." Arthur whispered.

"_Since,_" Goyle begun, turning his attention back to Draco, "our Dark Lord killed your mum..._She_ could do." Goyle motioned towards Ginny, "I'll take her off your hands."

Draco produced his wand, "Get away from her or I swear I'll yell Avada Kedavra faster than you can beg for your life."

"What?" Goyle asked, showing his hands in defeat, then whispered, "Is this your new family, Malfoy? Oh, how precious. Let me take a photograph! No, no wait. That's not it...Course it's not! You fuck her like you did Pansy." He grinned grandly as though the entire thing was a comedy, "_That's_ why you keep her around, isn't it?"

Draco had his hands around Goyle's neck within seconds, and Goyle, stunned, found himself choking against a wall.

"You bastard!"

"Protect...them...and...it'll be...your _death_!" Goyle crowed, "They're...fucking..._Weasley'_s...Malfoy!...Wo-..._Worthless _as...a _fly._"

Draco's hand tightened around his neck, feeling every vein, feeling his carotid artery just beneath his hand. His lifeline, right beneath his fingertips.

"I should kill you, you insufferable _git_."

"Do_ it_! Do it...then. You...don't have...the nerve!"

Draco squeezed even tighter, Goyle closed his eyes and took in a gurgling breath of air as his blood pressure sky rocketed. His head was pounding as his head begun to turn a purplish-red, a color Draco had never seen before, but instantly liked.

His mother was wrong.

Murder, when in the right situation, was certainly something he was capable of.

"Draco!" Harry yelled, moving around the table.

Everyone was standing at this point, and though Harry kept his distance, he was standing close enough to throw himself upon Draco should he take it too far. Or at least, that was Potter's plan. Draco chose to ignore his warning, but released his death grip on him just enough to allow Goyle to breathe.

Goyle choked taking in some air, but after a moment or two, took a breath and settled again.

Malfoy looked over for a split second at the table of faces, one in particular stuck out to him- that of Ginny Weasley, teary eyed, swallowing over and over- no doubt holding back her cries of relief and shame.

Draco turned back to Goyle who gave him a smirk- undoubtedly, he saw it too. Draco slammed his fist across his face, then brought himself close enough so Goyle could feel the slightest breath against his cheek.

"You'll _never_ touch a hair on any of their heads again.."

He slammed his fist against his cheekbone this time.

"...and you'll _never _talk like that about my mother, ever again."

"Traitor! I'd do it...again if given...the chance!" Goyle said through choking breaths.

Draco reared him back, slamming his head against the arched doorway.

"This had _nothing _to do with them, Goyle, why'd you bring them into it? Why'd you even show if you were going to do this?" Draco asked through vicious biting tones, breath shaking and labored.

"I had to...see if my suspicions...were true. And they..._are_. You're a..._traitor_."

Draco's face fell, his voice falling somewhere below a whisper.

"Never."

"Yes...you are."

"And what do you think you are? Voldemort's _spy_? Working on our power play are we? Voldemort'll love to hear this from the man who went against his rules and walked on forbidden grounds."

"I won't...be telling him..." Goyle swallowed roughly, his voice falling to a quiet rasp, "I'll let him figure it out...on his own. And watch you _panic_ and _squirm_...and watch you _die _at his feet...begging for your...pathetic life, Malfoy."

Draco pulled him from the wall, throwing him against the ground, holding his wand on him.

"One move and you die." Draco warned as Goyle moved his hand towards his neck, feeling the phantom pain with his finger tips as though to make sure Draco wasn't still choking him, "When's the next meeting, Goyle?"

"...This week. Friday. You'll get your letter soon enough."

Draco watched him cautiously for a moment then pointed towards the living room.

"Leave and never come back."

"I'd sooner die than meet with you again." Goyle whispered, "You always were a terrible host."

Draco narrowed his eyes as Goyle brushed himself off and gave him a squinted look in return, two boys, nothing more than boys, ready to strike and kill if necessary.

Sick cruel world.

Draco followed him to the door closely, wand pointed at his back with the words _'Avada Kedavra' _resting on his lips. Just before Draco closed the door behind him, Goyle turned.

"I'll see you Friday, _Weasley_."

And with that, Goyle quickly threw his floo powder, and Draco slammed the door in his disappearing face.

A presence, Draco could feel, resided behind himself. Turning slightly, looking at the figure out of the corner of his eye, he could make out that the figure was Potter.

"That's the difference between you and I, "Draco begun, "...If you hadn't been there, I would've done it. But someone has to be the hero, don't they?"

"Not all the time." Harry said plainly, "...Sometimes I wish I wasn't the hero." Harry paused for one thoughtful second, then looked at Draco's turned back.

"Like right now." Harry continued, "Honestly, I wish I hadn't said a word."

* * *

Three days passed by, intermittently in silence by Draco Malfoy, when anxiety got the best of him and he needed time to think out his plan for the death eater's meeting. Other times, he sat with the others. Albeit quietly, he passed the time with a fake smile at the appropriate times, looking out a newly repaired window with a sense of worry in his heart. But he'd answer any question or comment that might pass his way.

Such an instance, one morning, came from Granger who'd decided to ask him polite questions about the house- inquiring as to something she'd read in a book once that mentioned manors with secret passageways or storage rooms.

Draco answered in a typical fashion, _'If it was a family secret, do you think I would really know? Look for yourself, I don't care.'_

She spent the rest of the day searching.

He caught her in the library once, where he'd gone himself on a sort of treasure hunt, but this expedition had the goal of something more valuable- his mother's wand. He figured that she would've taken hers, but he supposed it didn't hurt to look. As well as hers, he still hadn't found his father's cane.

She'd given him a curious look.

_'What? It's my own house, isn't it?'_

_'I suppose.' _Hermione had replied.

_'It is.' _He corrected, _'If you see my father's cane while you're on this fruitless journey, tell me.' _

She complied, and then after a moment, looked up from her position against a wall, tapping against boardings to unearth some hollow noise, _'Are you searching for it for a reason?'_

_'Why?'_

_'Just curious.'_

_'You're curious often.'_

_'Yes, that's why I'm smarter than you.'_

Draco awarded her a sarcastic smile, _'It had his wand in it, you know.' _

_'That only supports my theory on a secret passageway.' _

Draco only shrugged in response.

"Draco?"

Draco looked up, having been lost in thought.

"What's it say?"

He blinked, looking up to meet eyes with Ginny Weasley who nervously looked upon the envelope in his hands he was staring so intently at.

He looked about the room for just a split second, regaining himself. He'd gotten lost in his own mental ramblings and recollections as he'd been thinking back on the last three worrisome days, full of questions that were being left to fester like deep infected wounds.

"Hm? Oh."

He worked at opening it.

And before thinking back on those dark days, he'd been half-conscious in another meeting called upon by Harry who'd, once again, been wasting through the days thinking through every scenario possible in that death eater meeting.

Draco had only one question, one he hadn't had the chance to ask yet. If he could ask one question, it'd be to Potter. He'd ask him why he'd go through the trouble, why he'd worry so much, over a guy like him? The person he'd bullied since year one? The person that had only wished the worst for him? They'd hated each other. His own hate for Potter had slowly diminished over the course of the year, starting it with more of a burning hatred than ever. And now?

He just wanted an answer from him. But certainly, he could call him his enemy any more. Maybe when the war was over, such petty arguments could rise again. He'd look forward to a time simple enough to restart a small rivalry. But for now, he was his ally and he had a respect for him he'd never had before, not a single moment in his life when all he'd had was burning hatred and a deep rooted sense of jealousy he pretended was disgust.

But now here he was, sitting beside Ginny who held his hand nervously- Oh. He hadn't noticed that before.

They were all sitting there, waiting for him to open up this letter.

He unfolded it quicker, putting one hand over his upper lip, rubbing the bottom of his nose in thought with the side of pointer finger. His eyes scanned down the letter, it was simple and to the point. No emotion could be gathered.

_Draco Malfoy,_

_Goyle Mansion_

_Tonight_

_11:15_

_Don't reply._

No signature, as usual.

"Goyle Mansion tonight at eleven fifteen." Draco replied, looking it back over just once. He was now attempting to distract his anxious mind with meaningless tasks such as deciphering if who'd wrote this had been male or female.

He'd settled on female.

No one said a word.

The room was silent.

"What're you planning to do when-" Hermione begun, though her words were swiftly cut off by Malfoy who folded the letter and set it back onto an end table beside him.

"There's nothing to plan." Draco replied shortly.

"You're...going to go in there without a plan at all?" Hermione replied, attempting to ensure that he was indeed, being this daft.

"I'll act normal. Listen. And we'll go from there when I get back."

Hermione settled back into her chair, wordless. What else could she say to someone so affirmed in their ways?

Draco checked his watch.

"What if.." Harry begun with an intense look in his eyes, as though a premonition had hit him just then and he was attempting to keep control of telling them that he knew this omen was God's prophecy sent to him by the angel Gabriel, "...Goyle says something? Or Voldemort says something? And it pisses you off."

"I can control myself." Draco replied flatly.

"Really? Haven't seen a very good example." Harry replied, no humor in his voice by then.

"How do you think I survived all this time?" Draco replied coldly, "You think I raised my voice to my father once? If I had, I would've been dead or disowned, Potter. I'll control myself when need be."

Harry went quiet again as he looked out a distant window into a darkening skyline.

The time was coming faster than he'd thought. He didn't want to fail. He finally nodded.

"Harry, dear, you've done all you can."

Harry released a breath and offered Molly a smile but it was in this chair he stayed up until Mrs. Weasley had called for dinner two hours later and everyone rose from the living room area to file into the dining room.

In the scramble, Harry watched silently as Draco went the other direction, out into the foyer slowly.

He followed quietly, coming behind him by a few feet.

"You shouldn't sneak up on people." Draco said suddenly, arms folded across himself as he stared blankly into inky darkness, "I'll kill you one of these times."

"Are you nervous?"

The question caught him off guard and he almost flinched at the concern, he went still.

"I've been nervous for a year. If I die, it'd be best."

"If you die, he wins."

"Who?"

"Goyle, Voldemort, name any of them."

Draco turned around.

"It doesn't matter if I'm nervous so you're question...isn't a very good question." He replied, leaning against the windowpane. "Even if I was crying on my hands and knees, this is still something I have to do." He pushed himself off the glass, "Tell Ron my apology was sincere, and Ginny should know I never thought Goyle would touch her." He paused at this, thinking back on them holding hands.

He looked to Potter in the eyes, sincerity in his eyes for the first time since he'd asked for his friendship in their first year.

"I am sorry about that."

"I know."

"Also..." He trailed slightly, "...tell Granger she's the only mudblood I've ever respected."

"I'll tell her you're very sorry then, shall I? And you value her as a person?"

"Whatever way makes me out better, I suppose." Draco shrugged with a smile playing on his lips, faint and almost gone the instant it arrived, "And Potter?"

"You're not dying, Malfoy. I'll follow along with it, but you could tell all this yourself when you get back. I-"

"I was about to say that I look forward to our rivalry when this is all over."

Harry pushed his lips together for a moment and then gave a smile back to him and a single nod, "Right. Yeah. I will too."

Draco, hands in pockets, checked for his wand, and opened up the door to a frozen gust of wind, it hit him like solid ice and stung against his warm skin.

"See you in the morning."

* * *

**A/N: Thank you again for such beautiful reviews. I love all of you.**

**Reviews are WELL APPRECIATED.**

**Criticism is well-received and accepted as long as it's not rude or arrogant.**


	8. A Lesson

Hermione brought her knees to her chin, thumb bit between her teeth and her other hand pulling on a strand of curly hair, straightening it and then allowing it to bounce to it's natural shape again.

She swallowed, looking at the door.

What if the last time she ever saw him, was in that living room? Looking nervously at his hands? With everything gone, everything lost, and no hope in those hollow eyes? As a human, looking into the eyes of another hurt human, it was painful when she knew there was agony lingering inside him. A part of her thought it was karma, justice, the universe practicing good balance. But inside, she knew it shouldn't of lasted so long...the world shouldn't of taken so much. If he wasn't a murderer, or the incarnate of evil like his father, why had the world taken everything from him? It stripped his life away bit by bit, piece by piece.

So, she rationalized to herself, nothing could possibly go wrong at that meeting- not when he'd paid justly. He paid the universe in lives, in happiness, in tears, in blood.

She shook the feeling from herself.

Why she worried over him like she did, was something beyond her common sense. It was like something in him had changed with the death of his parents. And though she knew it sounded terrible, it was the best thing that had ever happened to him. Perhaps it had knocked some sense into him- or perhaps it gave him the freedom to be the true Draco Malfoy.

A confused boy struggling to breathe beneath the pressure he was put under.

Perhaps arrogant, perhaps spoiled- but knew the meaning of pressure, of war, of death...of love.

With bits and pieces of anecdotes and the letter his mother had left him (and her own imagination) she could put together what it had been like to live as Draco Malfoy. It was a situation too foreign to understand, but so complex, she could see the hardened shell that had developed on top of him.

But somewhere inside...she still felt the familiar pang of distrust when she looked into his eyes. Maybe because it was a feeling she'd associated with his face, but his words were always followed with the smallest inkling of distrust. If he said the sky was blue, she'd look into his eyes when she thought he wouldn't notice, searching to see if he was lying.

And if the universe had taken so much from him, his entire life, why was it that she still felt a sense of hatred for him? Perhaps it was old wounds, unable to heal from the first time he'd called her a _'mudblood'_. The pain that word had caused her since then was raw and scarring. It was trivial and childish, but all the same, painful. And maybe it was the jokes he made to Ron about his money situation and the fact he laughed in Harry's face about the death of his parents.

Did people change? Or was he the same as he always was? But was childish bullying truly the problem at hand? Or was childish bullying just a guise that Malfoy hid under from self-confidence he lacked; with a father like Lucius Malfoy, constantly striving for perfectionism in all objects he owned, which included his son, it wasn't a theory too far fetched.

"It's a shame, isn't it?" Hermione murmured suddenly, eyes still tracing the edges of that door.

So important looking, so regal, but it had it's tales didn't it? It'd seen things it wish it hadn't, but it was quite literally in a jam. But it still stood there...

...looking so polished and new...but beneath that coat of paint...it was bruised. But what else could it do but fulfill it's purpose? Without a purpose, it'd be worthless.

"What?" Ron asked from his spot next to her, he looked to her distant eyes and followed their gaze to the door.

He'd taken to starting at it in the weaning hours as well, wondering if it would ever open- and if it did, would they get any answers from Malfoy, or would he retire to his room and remain wordless for days as was a trend for the boy.

"He's not all bad." Hermione replied quietly, "...He could've been like us."

"...we could've been like him." Ron added after a moment.

It became quiet again.

"If things had been any different..." Harry trailed off and shrugged, "If his last name wasn't Malfoy, we wouldn't even be having this conversation."

They took a moment to reflect on this, Ron turned from Harry, back to the door.

"He's still a sodding idiot, but I could tolerate him." He replied, folding his arms across his chest, closing his eyes briefly, "...not_ all_ bad, I mean. I don't trust him, not completely."

"But we do what we have to to help him. The enemy of our enemy and all that." Mr. Weasley said, folding his newspaper into his lap, "In time, maybe he'll earn everyone's trust. But...again, in time. For now, we save another victim from Voldemort."

"Right." Harry replied, giving a nod, "Couldn't of said it better, Mr. Weasley."

"I feel as though..." Hermione begun, "...it's wrong, but...All of this happening to him? Has anyone else thought even for a moment that maybe...this was for the better? I mean, "Hermione started quickly, not giving the chance for judgment, "He's getting out of Voldemort's hands and his fathers, though the affair of his mother _is _quite sad, he'll end up better off."

It was quiet for just a moment, then Harry replied, "I've thought that too."

"Yeah." Ginny nodded.

There was a room full of nods.

Hermione felt relief spread over her and gave Harry a relieved smile on impulse.

Harry smiled back and looked away, down at his feet with Draco's words on his mind still, reminding him to apologize to Ron one more time, ensure he understood he meant it. And then Ginny. Then Hermione. The words rested on his tongue and he debated if this was the appropriate time for the hundredth time while sitting there, but he figured no time was better than the present and cleared his throat.

"He wanted me to let you know he meant his apology to you, Ron."

Ron looked up for a moment, then snorted and gave a small smile, "I got even with him."

"Yes, you did." Harry replied with a widening grin that matched Ron's, "And-um.." Harry cleared his throat again, forcing away his smile, "...Ginny, he wanted me to tell you he really is sorry about...Goyle and all."

She smiled a little.

The mention of Goyle's name sent shivers across her forearms, giving her goosebumps as she felt a ghostly hand still brushing across the back of her head. A memory of Draco's promise echoing in her head.

She replied finally, " I know he is."

"He did almost kill him." Fred said suddenly, "If that's not an apology enough, "

"I dunno what is." George finished.

"He also wanted Hermione to know," He started, looking up into her imploring face, quiet and pale, awaiting his words with confusion, " He apologized for calling you the names he did. He said he valued you as a person, which is a compliment considering the source." Harry attempted a smile.

Hermione swallowed. He hadn't apologized to Ron for constantly picking on their family's lack-of-wealth yet, or Harry's lack of parents. So why would he go through the trouble of apologizing for her lack of pure-blood?

"You're lying."

Harry's mouth opened slightly, eyes slowly widening.

"What? Hermione, I promise, I'm not."

She locked her jaw tight, "He really said that?"

"Yes." Harry nodded, "I promise you. Why would I lie?"

Hermione looked away, somewhat embarrassed at her sudden outburst. But the doubt was still on fire in her eyes.

"He thinks he's going to die." Ron said flatly, looking up from his lap to Harry's eyes, "Doesn't he?"

"...I think so, yeah."

"And you think so too, or you wouldn't be telling us this." Ron said, his voice lowering, "You think-..."

Hermione looked up to Ron, switching her eyes over to Harry.

Harry's gaze lowered down to his watch.

12:58 AM

She looked away from him again, looking back at the door and all of it's intricate carvings, it beautiful fresh paint, it's tall grandiose frame.

And all of it's many secrets.

* * *

**Song Bird Sacrifice**

* * *

**Chapter 7**

* * *

Draco sat stiffly at the table, house elves stood nervously at the ready around the walls in the case that anyone should need them.

It was true, Draco felt the urge to order one to fetch something for him, scream in it's ear and beat it half to death- God, that was one way to release some anger. But the action played in his head and made him feel ill, so it was something physically improbable for him. Mentally, he imagined smashing a skull in with his bare fists.

God save him.

Draco was silent, around him death eaters were just as quiet. The room was filled with nothing but the sound of nervous breaths, hidden by upturned noses too proud to let anyone know they were fearful for the their lives.

Draco bit the inside of his cheek.

"Ah, my people."

Draco closed his eyes. He still hadn't worked up the nerve to look at him- every meeting, he'd looked at the table, at his father's hands, at his own hands. Anything to avoid the fish scale colored skin, shimmering in lantern lights, like pearl-skin wrapping around muscle and bone.

He swallowed.

He wished Kreacher was here.

So he could yell at him or...or...

He'd never _done_ anything more than yell at a house elf, so he wouldn't even know how to go about beating one, but his anxiety was skyrocketing and violence seemed to mentally soothe him at the moment.

His hands were shaking in his lap and he had a feeling he was capable of just about anything in these tense moments.

Voldemort's eyes were on him and he could feel it.

"Dearest Draco...so glad you could join us." He begun slowly, "_So sorry_ for the tragedy. But..." He lingered, "...it appears you're the last of your kind, Malfoy I mean, isn't that right?"

Breath was on his skin, the voice was on the move, he could feel something hovering just behind him and when his eyes looked up, he saw Goyle's bruised face smiling back to him.

"Come now, half of this meeting is dedicated to you. Don't be rude." Voldemort continued, "I've got a hundred other things to worry over and yet...I've always got a _Malfoy _to deal with. Poor, poor boy."

Voldemort gave a short-lived laugh which became the lead in a choir of hysterical laughter around the room, the second most unnerving coming from Goyle.

Draco swallowed.

"I've got a plan, My Lord." Draco replied, "To kill Prof-..._Albus_ Dumbledore."

"So it's only taken you half a year, has it?" Voldemort struck up his laughter again, sniffling in joyous tears as the rest of the table slowly quieted themselves. "Do tell, Draco."

"Since my parents..."

"...were murdered..." Voldemort said quickly, filling in the blank with a twisted look on his face, one of particular hysterics that he didn't bother to cover.

"...the Weasley's volunteered to take me in."

"I'm aware."

"I've gained their trust. Mostly. They don't suspect me anymore and it'll be easier to get close to Dumbledore without their suspicion. I plan to convince them I'm coming clean with Dumbledore about a mission I have, enter his office as a victim begging for help... then kill him."

"Very simple." Voldemort replied in thought, "So simple it might work. You've gained their trust you say?"

"Mostly, yes."

"How _proud _your father would be if he could see you in your shining moment here- But...He can't. Because you took just a _little _too long to get it together. They paid your price. With their lives..."

_'Sperm and egg donors...'_

"You didn't give me a deadline or enough time, I-" Draco's anger, boiling in his veins, opened his mouth with a forceful mental crowbar. He didn't even remembered the words leaving his throat, but he did remember his mouth snapping shut, eyes widened, and in an attempt to excuse whatever he'd said, ended with, "...My Lord."

"What's that?" Voldemort asked, craning his neck to look Draco in the eyes, coming face to face in a snake-like fashion,"...You wanted a _deadline? _...You wanted _more time? _Is that what you wanted, Draco? Well..." He laughed lowly this time, his chortle wasn't followed by anything but silence, "...Well, _now _is your moment. You have a _plan _and a shiny little _deadline_. Everything's in it's perfect place now, Draco. What will be your excuse _this time_?"

The smell of death filled the air with every breath Voldemort released, his slit-like nostrils releasing iron dust which Draco inhaled.

Voldemort's eyes inquired this question sarcastically, searching Draco's grey gaze as it stared nervously at the table's surface, his hands shaking in his lap and muscle's twitching beneath the skin.

"And what's more? You haven't learned your lesson." Voldemort pulled from his face.

Draco felt fresh air return around him, but a cold shadow crept along behind him, a hand landed down on his shoulder and squeezed with penetrating nails.

"Oh, it's not really your fault. I got _rid_ of the problem. See, what's happened is you've been spoiled _rotten_. Simply _rotten_." Voldemort gave a smile, laughter withdrawn but coming out in every word with breathy syllables showing the humor he found in the situation, "You don't understand _authority. _Or the idea of an _order_. Or _punishment_. But...I'm here to facilitate. I'm a _caring _soul, Draco. And I've found it to be my responsibility to take you beneath my..." He thought for the appropriate word, "..._wing, _if you will, in your parent's untimely death."

Cold, lifeless arms draped over his shoulders like a heavy corpse.

Draco shivered at the contact, closing his eyes and releasing a breath. His muscles tightened. He knew what would come next.

A breathy whisper entered his ear, all around him was silence, all around him was darkness, all around him...was his future.

"Let this be your first warning..."

Voldemort unlatched himself from the boy, walking slowly back to his seat. Draco didn't dare open his eyes in fear of seeing something truly horrifying. His mother's head perhaps? Or his father's hand? Maybe the ear of a Weasley...

He swallowed, feeling every fiber of his being tingle in anxious anticipation.

No words were uttered, just a single jolt of electricity hit his heart, blooming a pain beyond anything he'd ever experienced, and found himself face-down on the table, cold skin against metal, nails scratching it's surface. The pain spread to his spine, twisting it in a way he thought he could never possibly recover from. His organs felt as though they were being squeezed by the hands of Satan. Every inch of skin felt as though it were on fire. Every scar, every reminder of pain, resurfaced in it's full glory.

He fell from his seat, onto the floor, to the sound of a round of laughter.

"Mr. Goyle? The second. Please, take him into your study and ensure you teach him a lesson I'd rather not deal with at the moment. These childish antics can't be dealt with at this time. I have more important matters to tend to."

"Gladly, My Lord."

Draco couldn't see, between flashing hot white visions crossing his gaze, his eyes were closed as he attempted to curl himself in tighter and tighter in the darkness beneath the table. He clutched his hands around his arms tightly. But he wouldn't allow a scream to come from his lips. Not in front of Voldemort. Not in front of Bellatrix who laughed the hardiest, who's eyes shone at the idea of bloodshed.

"Oh, oh, please, My Lord. Let me teach the boy a lesson he'd _never_ soon forget...I'm his blood you know. Narcissa would want _me _to teach him a lesson."

Voldemort was silent at the proposition momentarily, Goyle stood stoic at Draco's empty chair, ready to reach beneath the table and drag the little vermin out from his stiff arms.

"I have important matters to discuss with you, Bellatrix...though I suppose Narcissa _would _like for you to deal with the punishment of her only child, and who am I to disregard the wishes of a poor dead woman?" Voldemort said thoughtfully with a smile, "Gregory, tie him up and keep him occupied for a while. I'll have Bellatrix relieve you of babysitting in a short while."

"Yes, My Lord." Goyle replied with a head nod, returning to his duty as he pulled the boy out forcibly from beneath the table, grabbing him by a single ankle and dragging him carelessly through the dining room.

Draco felt the blinding light return to his eyes, he opened them to see Voldemort's passive face, a smile drawn up on it as he gave a small wave.

Draco reached his hands out, scrapping his fingers against the tile in a slightly desperate attempt to stop Goyle from stretching himself out when his spine refused the action. The sensation, Draco imagined, was close to breaking your own spine.

Out of the dining room was a dark hard-wood hall, lit only by a single lamp in the hall, the main light was off, leaving Draco's eyes unable to adjust as he was dragged across down two steps, his nose smashing into both, and left carelessly by a cold fireplace.

The darkness was impenetrable, like a black sheet was swaddled around him blocking his vision. A light flickered on in a corner revealing Goyle's cumbersome stature, his muscles highlighted even beneath his cashmere sweater, the material clung to every inch of sculpted robust muscle.

Draco thought back on his hands around Goyle's neck...on his wand at his head...on the vengeful look in his eye.

"It _all _comes back around...doesn't it Malfoy?" Goyle whispered, "It's my turn this time around."

Goyle flew from the corner, knees planted on either side of Draco's writhing body, hands around his throat as he pulled his neck up and then slammed his head back down into the wood.

Grey spots stained his vision like a melancholic tie-dye pattern, his arms hastily reached up to Goyle's attempting to get some kind of hold on him.

"Goyle..."

"Don't, Malfoy. This is what you did to Crabbe? Isn't it?"

Draco swallowed.

"When Voldemort told you to punish him?"

"I didn't...kill him..."

"No, but you tortured him an inch to his death."

"I didn't lay...a _hand_ on him...used...curses."

"You always were a coward."

"Did...what...I was...told! You do..too, Goyle! Hypocrite!"

Goyle brought his head down with a thunderous crack, "Fuck off."

Goyle stood promptly, arms bowed out from him like the messiah of his people with an darkening expression in his eyes. There wasn't a smile, just a deep frown, a look of pure hatred on his countenance that Draco doubted could be matched.

"I do what's asked because I've never had an issue with it. You do what even I wouldn't stoop to."

Goyle whispered, snatching something off a side table. A fire was soon blazing on an old newspaper page, a photograph of Draco running from media personal burned with it, turning black and melting from the page.

"Don't act so brave..." Draco wheezed, "...you'd kill your own father, if _he_ asked you to."

He threw the page into the fireplace which lit the dry logs into a blazing fire with a simple charm casted with his wand to ignite the fire.

The room became a brighter place, warming considerably. Draco attempted to move from beside the fireplace but seeing the attempted independence, Goyle stationed his foot on his chest.

Draco looked up, "What're you planning?"

"...I wouldn't tell you even if I had a plan."

With this resolution, Goyle brought his foot from his chest and hovered it above his face, bringing his shoe down onto his cheekbone. Blood stained the sharp heel of his shoe. Draco looked up after a couple moments of regaining his senses, expecting to see a light-hearted expression on Goyle's face. An expression of pleasure at seeing Draco's eyes water in pain.

But not a single emotion could be read.

"Does it feel good?" Draco asked shakily, "Finally in power, Goyle?"

"...Yeah." He replied, "It does."

Goyle watched him momentarily, with a blank expression, as if he was imagining every combination of torturous pain he could put him through. After a moment, he put his hands on his hips, watching Draco's steady glare and listening to nothing but their beating hearts and the shaky breaths expelled from Malfoy.

The Cruciatus curse had worn off and Draco regained his composure slowly despite the throbbing pain in his head and across his cheek. It was with the thought of the cruciatus that Goyle's eyes suddenly lightened and he turned from the scene. Draco thought, for just a brief hopeful moment, that Goyle had perhaps gotten his power trip in for the day, had proved his self-worth to him and would sit in a chair and watch him squirm, listen to his inaudible moans, listen to his breaths and remind himself he could end that beating heart if he wanted to.

Instead, Goyle grabbed his wand from the side table, looking it over carefully before pointing it on Draco.

"I could end it." Goyle whispered, "...Avada..."

Draco didn't even flinch, just looked him in the eyes, watched his life end in the form of a book. He imagined those words as the last pages on a book. _'Avada Kedavra' _in black type-writer ink against a yellow sheet of paper, bound by leather that was labeled _'Insignificant Tales of a Miserable Child'_.

This was how it ended.

With no one in the world to hold his hand, with not a single tear shed for him. Perhaps Mrs. Wealsey out of pity, but no one in the world's heart would break for him. No one would mourn for months over his untimely death, his murder, no one would seek revenge on Goyle, no one would lay flowers at his grave every thirty days when the old ones were dried and wilted.

No one in this world would do such a thing for a Malfoy except, if you were lucky, another Malfoy.

"Imperius!"

Draco felt his body die, whither and become something foreign, like something attached to him, a weight. His eyes worriedly look down upon himself. Though he knew the curse, it had never been used on him.

His heart dropped and then...it stopped.

He sucked in a breath, looking to Goyle whose face was still void of emotion.

"What do you look like, I wonder..." Goyle said, his voice below the sound of a breath, "...in the glow of the fire?"

He pulled his wand upwards and Draco felt himself standing erect, though none of the weight of his body. He took an unwilling step forward, and crouched beside the fire, feeling the sweltering heat against his skin.

"...I definitely cracked your face...maybe cracked your skull." Goyle murmured seemingly unamused, and then gave a smile, "...I suppose the Weasley's'll play doctor on you when you get back, eh, Malfoy?"

"I'd rather die. Malfoy murmured, "

"You're such an insufferable arse..." Goyle said, "Touch the fire, Malfoy."

"What?"

"Touch it..."

Draco looked to his hand, watching it reach out to the fire like an ignorant child that saw a beautiful flame flicker on a candle's wick, wanting to touch the moving diamond of light. Hit skin felt the hot sensation despite being unable to feel his own body's moment, and felt the searing heat begin to burn his skin.

"Stop this, Goyle!" Malfoy commanded, fearful that if he didn't yell, he'd beg.

"Go on, Malfoy..touch it..."

Malfoy bit back his whimper, his scream, his cries- all for the sake of keeping one last thing. His pride.

He swallowed it all back down inside, he felt the skin begin to bubble and boil, it was slipping from his flesh, burning and charring.

The door slammed open.

"Gregory _Goyle._" The voice said, "Did or did not the Dark Lord say_ himself_ to let _me_ deal with the punishments here?" Her voice was shrill but relieving as Draco immediately recognized the voice as Bellatrix Lestrange.

Goyle waved his wand, ending the curse and Draco fell back to the wooden floor, brining his hand to his chest.

"Sorry." Goyle shrugged, "I couldn't help myself. Bit of revenge I guess."

"He done you wrong, Dear?" Bellatrix asked, as though suddenly immensely interested in Goyle's affairs, forgetting that he'd crossed her himself, Draco gave her a strange look that she didn't catch.

She watched from behind her black veil of curly hair at the boy before her.

"He didn't possibly." She whispered, astonished, "A Malfoy wrong a _Goyle_?" The sarcasm came out in the last of her words and Draco couldn't help but smile to himself, no matter how pitifully small the smile was.

Goyle's eyes changed, they turned from her, stuffing his own wand into the band of his pants beneath his sweater and shook his head, anger rising into his cheeks.

"He's yours then." He murmured, leaving the room with an air around him hotter than the blazing fire.

Bellatrix strode towards Draco slowly, each step forceful and anticipated by the Malfoy lying on hs back currently, seething at the pain blooming from his burnt hand.

"Ooh. That looks painful." She laughed, "Don't worry, though! Shhh...dry your tears...it'll seem like nothing very soon."

Her heel pushed his head sideways, "Oh, look at _that_." She giggled beneath a black-lace hand, "Got you good, didn't he? But I could do ya' better."

She forced his head back again, looking up into her eyes, blazing with an energy he was very familiar with by this point. An energy that told him nothing good was about to come from her- her only joy was found in doing the truly wicked, giving her that ultimate rush of adrenaline through her veins, the feeling of empowerment and invincibility which came from years of insistent childhood abuse.

Or at least- that's what his mother had always told him and she was her sister afterall...she should know.

"Aunty has to teach you a lesson, Draco..." She whispered quietly against the crackle of the fire. Draco let his head drop onto the floor, closing his eyes as she exposed her wand and brought it to his cheek.

"We'll start here."

Distantly, down the hall, Goyle could hear a scream.

* * *

Draco, through a dark veil that had been tied over his eyes somewhere during the _'lesson' _could see lights on in the building before him. Shadows passed by windows, laughter came from within.

_"Aunty has to teach you a lesson, Draco..."_

_A ripping sensation spread across his face, then she pointed her wand onto his chest and the same feeling ripped through him, she moved onto both his stomach and back before seeming satisfied with the work. Looking him up and down like a canvas, her torture device as her paintbrush. He could feel the blood sliding down his body like raindrops. He pretended that's what they were because if he didn't try to lose himself in some fantasy, he knew he'd surely die._

_"Shhh...no screaming...this is just the beginning, Love."_

_She ripped a piece of material from her dress, wrapping it around Draco's eyes, the last thing he saw was the hazy view of Bellatrix's smirking lips, her eyes feasting on the sight of his torn flesh. She was in a fantasy too. _

_If she didn't, she might die as well._

It was cold, unbelievably cold, frozen all around him, his bloody wounds felt frozen and it numbed the pain momentarily; as long as he didn't take another step.

And come to think of it...how did he get here?

He felt himself falling before he knew what was happening, the cold numbness was welcoming, inviting, and so refreshing. The wet slush encasing him like an icy cradle. He was only lucky he fell sideways into the snow instead of the narrow slick pavement that had been before him.

A yell came during the time he was slipping between conscious and unconscious, it was one he couldn't decipher but knew meant an emergency. Something in his head went off, telling him to run like an alarm, telling him to at least grab for his wand or prepare himself for another lesson because something was after him, but couldn't even find the strength within him to begin. No motivational speeches to himself could even be begun before he felt prying hands on him, pulling him from the snowy surface. Fingers in covered wounds, pushing into his blood stained sweater that was still moist to the touch from the still-bleeding wounds.

The hands yanked him and he felt the pulsating pain in his head radiate across his body.

"No..please..no more." He whispered quietly, "Leave me be."

A reply came back and insisted on dragging him from the snow, but the exact words were riddled with fearful pleads he couldn't translate. He couldn't see the hands grabbing at him, but they were long-fingered and lean like a female's touch.

She pulled him from the snow, screaming again in a demanding tone, attempting to keep her composure, but when she brought him into the light of a lamp on that pathway to the great big building he scarcely recognized, she looked into his eyes and he followed her gaze leading towards his cheek and watched as her composure cracked.

"Oh God.." Were words he heard, everything else was a mess of screams as others came running from the building, a mess of this girls tearful eyes watching him slip back into unconsciousness and her hands shaking him into a pain-filled sleep.

"..._Malfoy_?"

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for reading! Reviews appreciated!**


	9. Green

He was above it all, he was below it. Seeing everything in it's perspective, in it's place and in it's correct time. Seeing the world as it worked and functioned as a living breathing organism, multiplying and dividing it's cells into troublesome volatile creatures, each playing parts in the organ system of Earth.

He saw it all, coming together like a horrific painting, each elements muddying up the pureness that had been there once.

He saw himself.

Malfoy Manor.

His mother and him enjoying a day together was put in fast forward, gaining speed with every second he watched. He wished he could hold onto the moments when he was younger, when smiles weren't so rare. With every year that passed before his eyes, his mother's skin aged- he'd never noticed that. With every day, his mother became more and more distant, somber in every affair. And incredibly alone.

She watched him, Draco, go from telling her everything, to telling her nothing. Holding in his anger and fear.

She watched his father, Lucius, go from holding her close against him and promising her life would be better this way, as a deatheater, to showing up at home on the rare occasion which was never very long, and never spent with her.

He watched from above like a phantom in a timewarp, his mother die, in soul, in spirit.

Crushed to something he'd never noticed she became.

Accompanying her were house elves and old photographs, tears and afternoon day dreams.

And one day.

One day, she killed him for killing her son inside and killing their happiness, and their family, and herself.

And then, when she realized Draco was young enough to heal and she was too old...too broken...she left with the house elves by her side, writing a note before she left with tear stained cheeks and a cool composure. She left and entered the muggle world, rented a cheap motel room, and mixed enough potions together in the little crooked bathroom to kill herself off with a single flask.

Then it turned black.

It all went black.

Like the end of the world had come.

He breathed in, breathed out, in utter darkness and silence. Trying to remind himself he was human, he could breathe.

"Draco, " She said, emerging from darkness into light as Malfoy Manor built up around him, she apparated before him with gentle eyes that had been crying, the redness was his evidence, "..don't worry. I'm going to get us out of this."

He held himself close against her neck, feeling her sudden embrace around him settle his shivering, then pushed her away upon impulse, in fear Father might see their secret whispering, and held her at arms length.

"I promise." She whispered, looking in his eyes, a hollow pain that had been eating at her like a parasite showed through no pain at all, just remorse, just guilt. She was past the point of pain, of heartache.

"Promise what? Get out of _what_?" Draco looked around himself nervously, "This is how things have to be, Mother. We're creating the...new world...and we'll all...be in it." His voice faltered with every continuing word, as though he were asking for a correction, asking for her to shake her head and laugh at him.

She pulled him in again, and though initially resisted, found solace in the contact, the beating of her heart ringing in his ears.

She fell silent.

"I promise.." Was the only thing she could say after a minute of listening to the peacefulness of a familiar heartbeat, "I promise.." Like it was her only prayer, a raspy voice shaking with quiet desperation, hands tight on her only son.

She promised.

* * *

**Song Bird Sacrifice**

* * *

**Chapter 9**

* * *

"..._Malfoy?_" Was all Ron could whisper when he saw Draco in Ginny's arms, half lifeless.

He had blood dripping from various places on his body, staining through his sweater and dripping through the fabric. He had a burned hand that was literally stuck to the material of his sweater by strands of fiber that had apparently held onto pieces of burnt flesh and skin, the strands held the limb close to his heart. Ron continued his examination by looking at the condition of the other hand. Peeking beneath his sleeve, letters ran down his hand, _R-E-R _were the components visisble to what Ron assumed was a word.

He looked up further, to his bruised neck and swollen black cheek to the various cuts around his face, and to the left were letters.

They did form a word.

Across his cheek in diagonal lettering was the word _'murderer'._

Ron felt his heart drop as he looked down to the dripping sweater, blood blossomed across the material, dripping from his heart quicker with every quivering heart beat pounding in his chest.

The world went silent to him.

Harry ran to Ginny's side as she screamed again, "For bleedin' sakes, help me, somebody!"

The initial shock had run out for Harry, and now, it was his instinctual bravery that set in along with the help of Mr. and Mrs. Weasley who shakily helped detach Malfoy from Ginny. Arthur held him steadily as Harry came around to his other side.

It happened in fast forward to Ron who watched through some kind of filter like it was a dream. His dad held Malfoy tightly, Harry was coming around to support his left as his dad supported Malfoy's right, each wrapping his arms around their necks.

Then he coughed.

Ron's eyes focused in on the lurching and then the moaning that came after as blood dripped down his lips and fell to the concrete's ice, spreading gracefully across the thin sheet of frozen water, moving in thin trails like capillaries.

"...Oh God.." Hermione whispered, for the first time unable to form a single coherent thought. Watching the boy she'd thought deserved what he got not too long ago, dying before her.

Did he deserve this too?

Death?

If Draco were under Hammurabi's Law, eye for an eye, tooth for a tooth, then the justification for death would be null. When had he taken the life of a human being? Never as far as she knew- but perhaps the karma of Draco Malfoy ran deeper than she had knowledge of.

Then again, she had never been one to believe in karma.

It justified his situation for a while.

But not anymore, Draco Malfoy, a seventeen year old boy, didn't deserve this. She'd have to be an extremist with no compassion to believe he deserved a death like this.

"We should get him lying down, then we can fix him up." Harry said with a low grunt as he attempted to force Draco's legs into moving, but he was gone like summer's warmth and despite hesitation, Harry took to forcibly dragging him towards the manor. "You're gonna be alright, Malfoy. Hear me? Our rivalry won't be through this easy."

"He's...He's bad, Harry. We haven't even seen what's beneath..." Hermione tugged gently at his sweater, "We'll have to clean up his hand and..."

"He needs a doctor. We'll make up a story for it, or..._something._" Ginny whispered urgently as they got to the front door, "Harry."

"And you suppose they'll be so gullible as to believe he got this from some quidditch practice? He'd be in Azkaban before he could even explain." Harry replied quickly, letting out one labored breath before Arthur and himself lifted him up the few stairs towards the door.

"The Malfoy's _had _to of had a personal doctor." Bill replied in a steady string, shaking his head.

Ginny rushed ahead, holding the door open as they stepped into the light of the spacious foyer where they'd been previously sitting, waiting on an answer to their silent worries.

"We'll ask when he's a little more conscious." Arthur said ironically, looking over to the foyer's furnished setting, "We could put him on the couch." Arthur suggested, looking towards Harry who shook his head.

"Mending him would be difficult there."

"Suppose we should put him in his bedroom?"

"Without him conscious, that'd be impossible."

"His parent's bedroom is down the hall to the right." Hermione offered, pointing towards the hallway that ran beneath the stairs.

Silence followed her suggestion paired with an immediate stare from Harry.

"I _told _you I was looking for possible passageways. Draco was perfectly fine with me looking."

"That was an excuse to nose around, wasn't it?" Ron murmured quietly, beginning to leg it down the short hall to the towering oak doorframe alongside Harry, watching Draco intensely.

"My _nosing around _may save a life today, Ron Weasley." Hermione rebuttled quickly, though her usual sprite in proving her point was faded in her worry.

She rushed forward to get behind the unconscious Draco, inspecting his back for any more wounds. His neck had severe bruising, his hair had drops of blood but nothing that looked beyond repair, his sweater had obvious signs of more lacerations evidenced by the soaked blood stains.

Ginny again opened the door, holding it and watching Draco's sullen blank expression- she thought at some point it would surely change but it never even flinched.

They laid him in the bed slowly, his blood instantly smearing against green and golden sheets. They pulled his legs up and then took to staring at the unconscious boy for just a moment, attempting to decide what should be done, Molly rushed to him and Arthur stepped aside quickly, Harry pushed himself towards the back as Molly neared him and she scanned over Draco's body silently, her mind jogging for an instinct to latch onto and act upon.

It was a few moments, but she found it and took to allowing her instinctual and maternal guide to take over her body.

"Ginny, a bowl of water and a bottle of rubbing alcohol." Molly commanded quickly, "Ron, washcloths and a first aid kit. As many rags as you can find. Hermione, mint leaves. I bought some for a cake at the store the other day. It's in the spice rack. Mash'em up real good in a bowl 'till it's paste, Dear."

All three left the room quickly as Molly carefully pushed Draco's hair back, eyeing the still bleeding letters across his face.

She brought out her wand and steadily held it towards his sweater just beside the hand stuck by snagged fibers and loose strings.

"Diffindo." She whispered, the sweater beginning to sever as her wand dragged around the perimeter of his hand and then beneath his arm so that the patch of material stuck to his skin was cut out from the sweater, she waved her wand upwards once completing the spell and stuck it back into the waistband of her skirt.

"It was a lovely sweater." She murmured apologetically to him as though he could hear her every word.

Carefully, she moved his hand to his side, the piece of now cut fabric still clinging tightly to his burned hand, she began pulling the now hole-ridden sweater up Draco's thin body, skin cool and moist to her touch when her fingers brushed it, "He's not running a fever." She murmured to herself, "That's good news at least."

As she pulled the sweater off, she examined his skin and swallowed her cry of humanity, a cry that embodied her broken spirit. Though bruises covered his skin, they went unnoticed. The word written across his cheek was re-written several more times all across his body. Over and over again, as though branded for lifetime a_ 'murderer'_.

"Bloody hell." Ron whispered as he stepped into the room again, watching the rise and fall of Draco's chest, _'murderer' _carved into his skin across his body, deep wounds between the words were made crudely as though it weren't enough to be carved up like ham, not painful enough, not punishment enough. They looked as though someone had taken their jagged fingernails and dug at his skin until making a hole that received sufficient begging.

Ron knew _he_ would sure as bloody hell beg.

"Do you have the rags, Ron?" Molly asked taking one last stare at the words cut in Draco's skin before looking to his hands and receiving her answer immediately, "And the kit?"

"Oh. Yeah." He replied, fumbling with the pile of items he had ran back with in a shocked panic, in honesty, he didn't even really remember leaving the room. He pushed both items towards her quickly, the kit beneath the tower of washcloths.

She motioned towards the foot of the bed. He set them down, eyes still glued to Draco's beat body, his brain attempting to conjure up a scenario where he'd feel that much pain in the span of a few hours, all at once coming at you, words carved in your skin like a branded slave.

He could imagine it, with all he, Harry and Hermione had been through, he could most certainly imagine the pain- but the humiliation? The guilt? He tried to compare it to instances in his life where he'd felt the most humiliated, the most vulnerable, it came back to a time Draco had bullied him about his family's low-brow status and poverty.

But that wasn't truly the worst and looked inside of himself a little bit deeper, pushed away his pride and re-conjured the memory in his mind.

He frowned.

He remembered staring at Voldemort, just a single look; with his condescending gaze, standing there knowing that every thought he had towards him was correct. He was poor, he was weak, he was dirt in the wizarding world. He had heart, but no power.

The memory was incomparable to anything else he'd ever felt. Beside a powerful wizard and brilliant witch, he'd felt like the moronic mascot of a crime fighting duo.

That was probably a similar feeling Draco had, except in Malfoy's version, he was beat within an inch of his life- when he woke up, the humility he would feel would surpass anything he'd be able to imagine. To wake up defenseless, knowingly defenseless and worthless? Vulnerable beyond compare- a feeling of being so low and useless...

Ginny rushed in, "Sorry. Even with Accio it was difficult finding the rubbing alcohol."

"It's alright, his bleeding's slowed, his heartbeats stabilizing..." Mrs. Weasley rambled quietly, grabbing the glass bottle of alcohol and the bowl of water, setting them on the end table beside her.

She grabbed a single cloth, dipping it into the bowl.

"When this gets low, Ginny, I'll need you to re-fill it quickly."

"Okay."

She pulled the rag from the metallic bowl, the water pouring and dripping in sheets from the rag. She rung it out quickly, folding it into a rectangle and pushed Draco's hair back, setting the cool rag on his forehead.

His face tightened, jaw clenching and eyebrows furrowing in a distant pain, as though feeling the waves beginning to come on to him in his sleep.

She brought the cloth down his face slowly, avoiding the cuts as best as she could- she'd have to clean those out soon enough and that would be torturous as it was. She brought the rag back to his forehead and opened the first aid kit, bringing out a large pair of tweezers.

Hermione rushed in with the small bowl in hand, a thin watery-like paste of green mint leaves coating the bottom and filled the room with it's powerful scent.

"This might wake him..." She murmured, "...I'll hope it does. He shouldn't be sleeping with so much blood loss."

"What? The smell will?" Harry asked curiously.

"Of course, they use smells to wake up victims all the time." Hermione supplied, handing over the bowl and looking over the body with a scrutinizing stare, "...He looks...simply awful."

"He's doing okay." Mrs. Weasley replied, putting the bowl of paste beside the bowl of water.

With the pair of large tweezers, she held his hand with hers and pulled gently at the red cloth which had somewhat glued itself to his flesh.

"_This _is what's truly worrisome. He' must've put his hand on his sweater right after burning it. I've never seen this before with all my years as a mother." Mrs. Weasley said quietly, she swallowed and looked to Draco and then back at the fabric stuck on his burnt pieces of flesh and stuck to his fresh new skin, ready to cause infections that wouldn't be able to be fixed without a healer's potion of some kind or possibly a pill-form medication.

She took a breath and looked at Malfoy's pale grey skin, swallowed one more time and yanked as hard as she could with the metal tweezers.

Draco woke with a start and a gasp for air, a small cry was all he released before settling to labored breathing. He closed his eyes promptly and shivered, his hand vibrating in hers.

The dead skin had mostly ripped away onto the piece of cashmere, leaving raw red skin all along his palm.

She disposed the cloth off to the side, throwing the tweezers into the kit again and examining his status, pushing the cool compress on his forehead, "Draco? Can you hear me?"

He asked quietly in a defeated whisper, opening his eyes to a hazy dream-like world, "... someone ill?"

She replied, "Keep calm, this'll hurt."

He closed his eyes again, you could watch his Adam's apple move as he swallowed, his face wrinkled and strained, lips pressed, he grit his teeth and gave a seething hiss as she grabbed the bottle of alcohol and begun to pour it onto the freshly wounded skin.

He started to whimper and then gave a small yelp through his clenched jaw, tears forming in the corners of his eyes.

"I know. It'll be over soon."

He opened his glazed eyes, attempting to catch his breath again, looking at her through a film, "Mrs...Mrs. Weasley?" He asked shakily, his voice quivering with every uttered syllable.

She looked into his eyes and smiled weakly, "You're safe now- Don't you move an inch, Draco Malfoy."

He'd squirmed slightly beneath her tentative touch, "I'm sorry." He said with a pained single whisper, "I'm so sorry."

"Don't move, Draco."

His breath racked and coughed, "I'm so sorry..."

He released a tired breath, squeezing his eyes shut tighter, moving his head to the side as if he were trying to move away from the pain.

She gently took a palm full of mint paste and applied it to the burn, looking up to his face to gauge a reaction. His hardened features softened.

"Feel better?"

He didn't reply but gave a few steady breath and that's all she needed.

She took the alcohol bottle again.

"This'll burn again, Love.." She whispered, gave a pause incase he pleaded for a moment's rest, but he didn't and begun to pour it over the open wounds across his body.

He opened his eyes to look at her, panic was in them, fretful and full of fear, he closed his eyes again, like snapping a blind closed, as hard as he could, and pushed his head into the pillow, the dusty smell of down was in the air.

His back arched slightly as he gave a sordid yell of meaningless noises. It sounded like a hopeless cry of pain and defeat. He felt his spine contort like a scorpion, spine cracking with the pressure.

"I'm so sorry." She whispered, pushing the cloth against his forehead again, "But this'll make you better, I promise."

_'I promise..'_

"She promised too!" Draco yelled in a screechy voice, a moan entailing his next words, "She _promised_..."

Tears came rushing down his face. Broken, hollow, his body raking with anxiety and guilt, years of hatred releasing from his body with every hot breath.

"..._everyone_ promises..." He whispered now, calmed back into a cold cadaver-like state, he was incoherent again by the time she wrapped the gauze around his hand. Low whimpers escaped his lips every few seconds.

"Talk to him, Dear." Mrs. Weasley said looking over to Ginny who stood by her side with a pained expression across her face, she looked down to her mother with reserved apprehensiveness. "Going in and out like this isn't good, if we can get him distracted and conscious, it'd be for the best."

She wasn't scared to talk to a barely conscious Draco, that was ridiculous, it was the thought of coming up with something to say to him. What could she say at a point like this? They'd only ever shared one class together in all the time she'd been at Hogwarts considering he was a year senior to her and it had been a disturbingly boring class- he'd never even said a word to her considering he was the only Slytherin in the class.

Away from Crabbe and Goyle he'd been...different...

Her eyes darted back to the shaking lips of Draco Malfoy now, presently ailing in unimaginable mental and physical anguish, every muscle twitching beneath his skin in unreleased tension.

She lowered herself to the wooden flooring, coming face to face with him, her chin barely brushing the sheets on his mother's bed. He gave out a labored breath as her mother set herself upon the task of stitching a particularly deep wound in his side.

His eyes opened again, and though his eyebrows raised at the sudden pain, his eyes were half-lidded at best. His head turned towards her but didn't seem to take notice of the youngest Weasley looking into his grey eyes at that moment.

"Draco?"

His ears initially didn't catch the name, words still muffled and distant to him, at times echoing in his reeling brain, working overtime to restore itself back to it's usual witty state. Now it had flashes of memories, glimpses of regrets, and whispered secrets all swirling around in his head.

"Draco?"

This time he caught the word with a sudden vibrant intensity, a grey aura hung around the melodic word and he momentarily, heard each of the memoriams in his head yell the word out in their own voice.

He heard Crabbe, a dim-witted moron who wanted nothing more than to feast or fry his enemies alive and laugh at their stunned faces. In a way, Draco had found a sickening closure the first time he'd yelled stupefy at Crabbe, but found revolt when Voldemort instructed he be more strict, have a heavier hand with the boy and commanded he use cruciatus on him. It was the first he'd used it.

It'd be the last time.

He heard McGonagall, the only time she'd called him Draco was when she'd found him staring at a frozen lake not long before he'd had to leave with the Weasley's on Winter Holiday. She sat with him in silence mostly, saying his name once to grab his attention, then whispered that his legacy would be for him to choose only. No one else. He'd pushed the memory away since the moment it happened and hadn't thought of it since.

Until now.

He heard his mother, of course. Her calling his name from one of the many times she'd yelled to him for dinner, or to come inside out of the cold (he'd always loved winter), but it certainly wasn't one of the last times she'd called his name. Because her voice would've been quiet and full of pain.

He couldn't bear to hear that.

But one voice stuck out to him in his head, a face among the swirling gold of liquidized memory came together, what appeared to him was the face of pale plain-faced girl with dotted skin like a sewing pattern. Red hair and hand-me-down robes.

It was Ginny Weasley.

His eyes looked towards her, shaking like gelatinous crystals, looking over her face carefully. Realizing his eyes were open, looking at a real person. The dullness remained but a profound intelligence resided in them, like he was awake internally, but externally energy had to be spared.

"We had one class together, do you remember?"

His eyes looked into hers shortly, his forehead beaded with sweat and lips taut and thin, pressed against each other in agony. His eyes begun to move away and Ginny provided an answer for him.

"Maybe you don't. We had Magical Avian Studies together last year. Which is odd. You signed up for magizoology based electives but...what happened with Buckbeak and all.."

"Buckbeak...?" Draco whispered suddenly, eyes intensifying.

"Yes, you ordered your father to have it killed, but-...We don't have to discuss that, I'm sure you wouldn't have done the same now after-"

"D-...Didn't ask my father...for that creature...to be slaughtered..." Draco murmured quietly, releasing words between pained breaths, " I wanted...Hagrid to be...punished...I was...humiliated. Father _insisted; _not for me...he wanted to make...a point to...Dumbledore. P-Power. I didn't want Buckbeak to..be hurt...But I had to go w- with...with it..."

"I...never realized." Ginny replied quietly, "Why didn't you ever say anything?"

"Against...my reputation...and my...f-father? Draco let the question hang in the air.

Ginny let the words sit in the room for a moment, gathering her thoughts and forming a plan to transition safely to her next question.

"You do like them then?"

"Like what?" He whispered, it was murmured into the pillow as he his eyelids begun to droop again against the oncoming waves of pain as Mrs. Weasley begun to stitch and patch up the last few bleeding wounds.

"Animals? Creatures? Birds?"

"...I had a bird..." He whispered, going back into sleep slowly, as though it were calling him, begging him to come back and live amongst the memories.

"What was it's name?"

"Bloy. He was...a Bloyse White Songbird...Wasn't too creative at ten.." Draco gave a crooked smile at this, chapped lips cracking, blood coming to the surface.

Ginny smiled at this as well, unable however, to cease from wondering what happened to the bird. In the back of her mind she couldn't help herself but imagine something very similar to the Buckbeak situation had happened, though with the past tense Draco had used, it was evident Bloy had suffered a worse fate. She hoped that he'd simply died of old age as small birds didn't last very long as learned in Avian Studies.

"What happened to Bloy?"

"...My father...was drunk." Ginny's smile fell from her face quickly, Draco continued, "He was..old..anyway...He wanted to..die. I fed him from the...small syringe from...when I first got him to keep him...alive..." He was going in and out of consciousness, his wracking breaths becoming smoother, but his mind was slipping away from him with every second.

"Bloy was your only pet then..?"

"..No. Bilby was my dog."

"He passed too?"

"I don't know..." Draco's eyes closed, "...Father got rid of him...I'd found him...in Diagon Alley. He was sick and Mother let me take him...home..." Draco trailed off and suddenly went still.

"What happened? Draco, open your eyes."

Draco re-opened his eyes as best he could, he took in another breath with a start as he felt cold hands and burning liquids run down his back, he clenched his eyes shut and balled up his one good hand. He grunted against the brunt of the pain.

"What happened to Bilby?"

"Bilby...got well...Mother said _yes." _Draco groaned, "Father said _no_."

"That's terrible." Hermione whispered, coming next to Ginny now, bending down onto her knees beside her, "I had a dog once as well. Terrible creature, but I loved him. He died from cancer- it's..not something very common in the wizard world I don't believe."

"Cancer?...Like the constellation." Draco murmured, his eyes beginning to close again.

"Like the constellation, yes. Or the astrological sign." Hermione replied quickly, "Your name is a constellation. And..." Hermione scrambled for any sort of conversation starter, "Why's that?"

"Why's...what?"

"Your name a constellation. Draco is a dragon, right?"

"Black.." He begun, then swallowed, "...tradition. Mother's side." He took in a shallow breath, "Am I the ill one? What's happened...to me?"

The question was answered with momentary silence and an awkward thickness in the air. The question rung in Harry's ears and to void himself of the ring, he cleared his throat.

"I figured you're father would've named you Draco." Harry replied frankly, "But it was your mother then?"

"...She said it had to be...a constellation..." He replied, nodding against the side of the pillow as he curled more and more into a ball as Mrs. Weasley begun to patch up his back, "...Father chose Draco..."

He paused, swallowing, but then continued, "...Mother liked...astrology...unlike.." The words sounded recited, but trailed quietly into a void of inaudible whispers as he begun to close his eyes again.

"Unlike who?" Ron urged, folding his arms across his chest a little tighter and looking with mild but hardened concern at Malfoy from his position against the wall beside Harry, the shock of Malfoy's bleeding-out body in the snow still clung to him in the form of intermittent vertigo and nausea, but his mind was slowly clearing and he replaced his pallid, gaped-mouth expression for a hard distant look to mask his anxious denial of the situation.

Draco re-opened his eyes, "What?"

"Your mother liked astrology unlike who?" Hermione provided quickly.

"...Bellatrix?" Draco whispered, "She-..." He swallowed nervously, looking into Hermione's eyes with a sudden intelligent spark lighting them from the previous darkness, he turned his eyes from her and shuddered at the thought.

His hand, boiling in the flames stopped by her presence, but it only brought on something worse. She used her wand like a torturous paintbrush, lining his body with words he'd begun to believe in. Digging her nails in his chest and laughing over his screams, feeding off his tears with a forked tongue.

Telling him lies about his own mother.

Using crucio on him in the dimmest of his consciousness to bring him back alive.

Threatening Avada Kedavra if he didn't open his eyes.

Pushing him through the gates of his own home, which he hadn't even recognized, with a cold sweater clinging to his wounds.

Reminding him she'd always be there for more if Voldemort should so be inclined to request her services again.

Reminding him she wasn't _human_... She couldn't be.

A sweat suddenly came over his body, a sick feeling in the pit of his gut, but it rested when met with kind open eyes- the eyes of Hermione Granger and Ginny Weasley. Two people that he'd tortured himself, but knew would never exact their revenge on him now.

They were better people than him- people he could trust.

"Much better, and _damn_ good work if I do say so myself, excuse my language." Mrs. Weasley smiled, walking back around the bed, "How do you feel?" She reached the back of her hand out to Draco's forehead and then gently touched his cheek, "You're a little feverish."

She frowned at this and pulled her hand away, "Are you feeling okay, Dear?" She repeated the question slower.

Draco found his breath lurched somewhere in his throat, he swallowed and tried to form words again, but they didn't come.

He raised his head slowly, a crumpled expression of pain flashing across his face as he looked down to his body, riddled with stitches like the son of Dr. Frakenstein, the monster of a creation he abhorred. Across his body over and over the word that made him shake inside. Patches and creams, rips and tears along him like a ragamuffin doll.

He gave out a nervous breath of air, eyes widening.

"Don't panic, dear, you're fine now." Tears came to her eyes but she blinked them back effectively, "Are you in a lot of pain still?"

"Who did this to you?" Harry asked with a sense of anger trembling in his voice, at the void of silence, Harry pushed, "Tell me."

"Who was it, Malfoy? Voldemort himself?" Ron asked, his mother looking back to her youngest son, she debated pushing his question away from Draco's thoughts, but found herself more and more curious as to what the answer might be and decidedly looked to Draco for his reply.

Draco was caught up in the lettering on his skin, but slowly turned to look to Ron, he let his head fall back onto the pillow, changing his eyes to stare at the green canopy spread above him, remembering disdainfully at the memory of himself as a child reaching out to touch it when he'd sleep between his parents after a nightmare, never being able to reach it, always feeling as though it were just centimeters away from his fingertips.

It was green, all around him his whole life. Green canopies with green swirling portraits of serpents. Green dragon paintings as gifts from his mysterious Aunt Andromeda that father would burn. Green fires made of magic, green ties and green snake pins.

Now, even now, when he closed his eyes, he saw green. Green fields swaying, hiding the innocent gaze of a girl. He looked a little closer.

A girl he once thought he loved.

She could be cruel, she could be cut-throat but...

But why her? Why now?

He focused in on her face, her icy blue-green eyes like a frozen lake watching him from behind tall blades of swaying grass, soft as a baby's first breath. Her hair flew behind her gently, tossing in the wind in brown locks.

She had skin like milk and as mild and fresh as the clear endless sky, unblemished and clear.

She brought him to a steady sense of calm.

Because in the end, when he'd become this other person, a sickly, quiet being instead of the arrogant vibrant boy, she was there more than ever. She was quiet herself, sitting beside him in endless silence in the common room. She'd leave when he'd ask. She'd be there when he asked. She'd listen to him ramble and complain about the school, even when that was never the issue at hand and she knew it just as well as he did- though she never was told what _was _the issue.

It wasn't a romantic sort of love. Whatever it was, he was sure it wasn't that. A love perhaps, between two humans, but never had it become anything affectionately sweet. Her presence calmed and soothed him, fed his fire and then extinguished it all at once. His presence gave her butterflies and a sense of meaning in her meaningless life. A mutual respect was formed and created, bonding over misery. Bonding and creating a love that was never really love.

He re-opened his eyes.

He never even told her goodbye.

"Potter?"

"Yeah."

Draco didn't move his gaze from the canopy.

"Will you write to Pansy? Tell her I'm sorry for-."

"Malfoy, you're not dying. Stop this-"

"Ask her to visit. Use my owl."

"If you tell me who did this to you, I might consider it."

Draco turned his head at this, "Is that...what you're all waiting for is it?" His words slurred slightly and he closed his eyes again.

"Draco, you've lost a lot of blood. Take it slow." Mrs. Weasley whispered to him, "Speak slowly."

"Goyle took his turn first. Bellatrix came in after a while."

"Goyle? Who gave him authority?" Ron mocked, folding his arms even tighter.

"_Him_." Draco responded quietly, "I've got a..." He begun breathless, brain beginning to slip again, words going fuzzy.

Faces slid from his mind.

"...pretty little deadline..."

When he closed his eyes, all he saw was green.

* * *

**A/N: Sorry for the wait! This took some serious editing and re-writing because of the dialogue. Draco's a little different in this chapter due to his delirium and blood loss so it was slightly difficult, I don't know why. He was actually pretty normal, it should've been easy. Lol. **

**Leave a comment/review if you can, they're so _dearly _appreciated. Please and thank you.**


	10. Pansy Parkinson: A Strong Woman

**Before I begin, I want to clear the air about something very very briefly.**

**My characterization of Malfoy is not to be taken so literally, and in my opinion, the HP books are not black and white and left to interpretation on many levels. The story isn't meant to be interpreted, but the characters on a psychological level can most definitely be up to your own opinion.**

**Malfoy is in a time of absolute desperation in which his life is changing and he realizes everything he thought was completely wrong, what his father taught him was wrong, and his mother was the only person who ever taught him a single moral- and now it's too late to take her words to heart.**

**None of the characters completely trust him, they wouldn't entrust their lives in his hands to be brief. And none of them are his "best bud" by any means. They pity the situation he's in and are TRYING to trust him. Forgiveness isn't black and white, it's complicated. Like the characters. So no, they don't 100% forgive him, neither do they 100% hate him. Life isn't like that. Am I right?**

**In my opinion, none of the characters (Ron, Harry, Hermione) could ever be best friends with Malfoy like the way they are together, but they can be civilized humans as long as he is being civilized as well. They can help a guy out can't they? Why leave him to suffer so terribly? What did he do pre-HBP that was so deserving of it?**

**These are simply my own thoughts, my own characterizations. If you don't like it-...Sorry?**

**That's all I can do. My description isn't deceitful to the story's plot, so don't read if you don't like.**

**Thank you. I do appreciate critiques, but please don't say something so irrational such as : rewrite the entire thing. I wouldn't possibly waste my time doing that on something that's merely meant for fun. **

**(Also: Harry nor Hermione nor Ron are obsessed or in love with Malfoy in ANY way. Harry's never been the bad guy, has he? He's always done what's been expected of him; he's been the hero. So why is this situation any different? He's conflicted but willing to try. Hermione has far more confidence now than she's ever had, so why should the fact that Draco bullied her when they were younger still make her hard hearted towards a pitiful soul? At times, she hurts from it like any bully-victim does, but it doesn't consume her life. It shouldn't. Ron has the most right to be angry, and it's obvious that he is. He's also very stubborn. But through it, is seeing Draco's slow transformation and slowly is lowering his guard. Why is that unbelievable? To me, it's not. So if you think it's crazy...DON'T READ THIS.) **

**Thank you for reading, now let's read some more.**

* * *

His scream was what woke her. At first, she was in a sort of daze, looking around to find the source of the noise. A weak whimper sounded somewhere in the darkness as her eyes adjusted and fear took over.

Another scream came.

It wasn't ear piercing, but full of pain and urgent.

She stood, a blanket that had been wrapped around her by a mysterious good soul sometime during the night when she'd drifted to sleep fell to the floor unceremoniously and she ran to the bedside, turning a lamp on with deft but shaking hands.

She looked at the face, strained with labored breath, limbs shaking and sheets soaked with cold sweat.

"Draco.." She whispered, "Draco, wake up."

"...No..." He whispered in distress, "..Liar.."

She shook him gently, on his shoulders where the only injury was bruising, and pushed his hair back from his greying skin.

"Draco, wake up."

He took a sharp intake of breath, his expression calming momentarily and then worsening.

"Oh God.." He whispered, his hand beginning to search his torso with flaming curiosity.

Molly looked down at the injuries, red and inflamed, bruised and irritated.

"Draco, don't touch them, you're okay n-"

"God, it hurts.." He said in a suppressed and shaking voice, "...it's hurting."

"What is?"

"All of it." He said, drifting back into a fevered dream, "...all of it..."

* * *

**Song Bird Sacrifice**

* * *

**Chapter 10**

* * *

"Harry." Hermione said it firmly, "You're human, you know that, don't you?" The question was softer but remained solid, her voice never faltering, never trailing.

Her eyes searched for his answer in his own, but he turned from her, eyebrows tightening and knitted, face taut against bone, his jaw clenching then releasing. His answer was a shaky intake of breath and an angry shrug.

"...But the plan should've been better. If I can't protect one person, how am I supposed to protect two, three, four, a whole population? Today it's Malfoy, tomorrow it's you, the next day it's Ron and his family, and the before you know it, it's the world." Harry's hand landed against his sides, on his jeans, then set on pushing a hand through his hair nervously before folding his arms across his chest.

"That's what you think, isn't it?" Hermione said, her voice rising, "That we need your _protection_. Harry, we're your friends but we're capable, not incompetent _diots, _ not..." She trailed this time, for lack of words coming to her mouth, "You're taking the world on your shoulders but it's not going to just be you in this fight. We'll all be there."

She paused, wrapping her arms around herself and turning from his empty stare, "You're worried. I understand. You've always been so...heroic. But, you have to believe in us too."

"But, Hermione. I _do _believe in you, it's just-"

"It's just you think I'm helpless? I'm another responsibility? A liability in this fight?"

"No!"

"Then stop acting that way, Harry James Potter."

His mouth became tight lipped again, sealed with frustration and anger, his hands turned to fists.

"What happened to Malfoy's not your fault, Harry..." Ron murmured from the door, rubbing the back of his neck nervously, "...He insisted...I mean..."

"I know what he said." Harry whispered sharply, like razors spit from his tongue, "But I should've put some sense in him. I should've formed a better plan than what he had. We should've talked about it more, it's just-..."

"You spent _days _pacing in the library, Harry. We all did." Hermione replied, "What more could you've done?"

"I could've forgotten how much of an ass Malfoy is and had treated him like I do anyone else. I should've corrected him but-...I didn't want to start an argument. You've seen how those go. He's arrogant and hot-headed and..._some_ things_ don't_ change. I was trying to avoid a petty fight and it was dumb reasoning as a leader and..." He gave a grunt of frustration, "I should've been more responsible, more mature. He could've_ died_."

"He's not _going_ to _die_." Ron said quietly, "He's gonna be alright, Harry."

"But what about next time? Can I really trust myself to protect Hermione or you? Or anyone?"

The room became quiet at this.

Harry turned away from the window in the lonely little library, looking at the dust in the streaming light and looked at the two people before him. Ron had come off the door, now standing beside Hermione with a hand on her back. Hermione's eyebrows were folded in defeat, expression deflated and eyes full of unexpressed emotion.

"I'm not ready for this." Harry whispered in a pained voice, shaking his head, "I'm not prepared to... to lose you guys." He swallowed, if he continued, his voice would've cracked beneath the weight of the lump in his throat, "If _my_ life was the only one at stake, there'd be no hesitation to kill Voldemort."

He didn't cry, he didn't even feel the onslaught of tears, just the brief sensation of hollow emptiness in his chest, and the absence of his heart beat at the very thought of a world void of those he loved.

"This isn't going to happen again. Not to us. Not to anyone." Hermione supplied quickly, vengeance within her tone, something new and unearthed beneath the usual witty tenor.

"Right." Ron replied readily, it was but one word, but a word that sufficed as a blood promise.

Harry's nerves lessened, but never vanished.

Even when Mr. Weasley had called them to breakfast, he didn't budge from his spot at the library window, satisfying them with an _'in a minute' _and took to staring out at the blackened fields of Malfoy Manor, watching a single stand of green grass lightly sway in the infrequent winds.

Wondering if he could take on the duty of the world's protector.

Wondering if he'd fail again.

He knew in his heart, in his soul, in the deepest realms of his mind, it was imminent.

* * *

His eyes opened to a thick film, everything blurred and distorted. He blinked a few times in an attempt to find a source of the light, of the noises, of the pain spreading across his body.

He gave a soft groan, closing his eyes again. The pain came on slow but quickly, with every moment of consciousness he became increasingly aware of the injuries his body had sustained.

"God." He seethed, "Bloody..."

"Draco, how're you feeling?"

"Wha'?" He re-opened his eyes slowly, blinking away the grime layer from his eyes and squinted against the bright light surrounding the woman like an angelic aura, "I'm in _pain_." He replied monotonously as if annoyed by the question.

"I know. I whipped up a little Murtlap Essence cream, an anti-inflammatory, and put it on. It helps."

Draco looked down on his body, stitched like a quilt and oiled with ointment, his eyes jumped over the word _'murderer' _on his body.

"Did you do this?" Draco asked quietly, "The stitching?"

"Yes. It's a little crude, but it turned out just fine. Being a mother in my position, I had to learn to stitch a thing or two. Couldn't run down to St. Mungo's every week, could I?"

Draco gave a phantom of a smile, then closed his eyes again against the familiar burning ache rising that would soon turn into agony, "Fuck..."

"Language, Draco Malfoy." She warned and released her following words in an uneasy breath, looking over his stiff features with a contemplative eye, "...I..whipped up a little something_ else_ as well. You could take this, if you _need_ to..."

She grabbed a large phial off the side table, extending her arms calmly towards him. He opened his eyes in little slits to view the amber colored liquid in the glass container.

"If the pains intolerable, it'll surely do the job. Just a little though, Dear. It's rather strong." She uncapped it and hesitantly lifted his head.

He resisted slightly, looking to her as though his pride had been stricken from him, and then fell into submission. No one else was there. He could let his guard down for just a moment. He reached for the phial, to hold it himself, but found his arms were too weak and let her bring it to his lips. He felt the humility, it burned inside of him like alcohol down his throat. But it only left him colder. If his wounds hadn't burned worse than his own pride eating away at him inside, he would've demanded independence.

But for the moment, he trusted her- she'd patched him up after all when it would've (could've) been the most opportune time to kill him if she so desired. If she wanted him dead, she wouldn't be the kind of murderer to feed off his fear.

"A sip at best." She whispered in instruction as she tipped it slowly into his mouth, watching his eyes close in exhaustion as he swallowed the small sip she'd poured into his mouth.

The relief was almost immediate, "Thank God.." He said in a hush, his head beginning to turn to the side as the world faded to grey, "...thank God..."

She liked it better when he fell asleep in that position, the word branded to his skin became almost invisible this way. The word became nothing more than mere marking-like scratches, becoming illegible cuts on his face that reminded her of cat scratches.

She capped the phial and looked down at the liquid sparkling inside with disdain.

Cat scratches didn't require pure Morquin.

* * *

Ginny's conversation was cut in half by a knock at the door.

She'd been talking quietly with Hermione about the obvious concern over Harry and the stress on him. Hermione and her both knew the source, it wasn't a difficult riddle to solve. He was taking responsibility for everyone as per usual, forgetting those who were equally capable of protecting themselves and lost in a delusion that everyone was incompetent and that he'd have to act as the only wizard.

It was sort of deluded in a way- not realistic. Although, Harry tended to think of the worst scenario first and make it true in his mind- so true that he'd become surprised when anything positive turned out in a situation.

It didn't help that Malfoy, someone he was trying to pull away from his main enemy by request was now lying injured in a bed unconscious with creams and stitches and golden fluids forced down his throat to ease the pain and stop the nightmares that came in the night.

He was on the edge more than ever and it was in the middle of discussing how they could possibly pull him from the brink he'd set himself on that a knock came at the door that made them even more worrisome than before.

Their faces portrayed shock, as could be expected, and looked from the door to the other. No one else was in the foyer, no one was even in the living room which was situation to the right of them, or in the connecting kitchen.

They were all either upstairs, in the garden, out to fetch groceries, reading in the library, or checking on the still sleeping Malfoy who hadn't opened his eyes since three am that morning for Mrs. Weasley, but was steadily improving in condition.

And currently, no one was apparently within ear shot of the knocking at the door.

"I'll get it." Hermione replied quietly, "But you be right behind me with your wand ready."

"If they're an enemy...I'll use stupefy?"

"Only on my signal." Hermione replied with an approving nod, standing and fixing her button up-shirt with a tug that was situated beneath a soft periwinkle sweater.

Ginny folded her arms across her own green long sleeved shirt, feeling the slight chill in the air pass through the thin cotton material and chastised herself mentally for not deciding to layer and put on her brown pullover or her blue jacket.

Another impatient knock sounded and Ginny swallowed a little nervously.

"Impatient isn't he?" Ginny remarked quietly.

She pulled out her wand from the waistband of her jeans and took position behind Hermione auspiciously as she neared the door and opened it with polite eagerness.

Standing on the porch with widened eyes and uplifted brows, dark hair falling in a thick mass of mess about her face, was Pansy Parkinson whose expression suddenly contorted to confused anger.

"_Granger?_ What're you-"

"Pansy."

Pansy's eyes snapped from the two girls who looked at her in sudden understanding to Harry who became the new main attraction. Hermione and Ginny turned quickly, Hermione looking back to Pansy periodically to ensure she wasn't about to try anything on them.

"Potter." She said, but without the venom her usual serpent-like tongue dripped, she was concerned and her innocence suddenly came back, "Where's Draco?"

"Come in." He said, "Hermione. Ginny. It's okay."

"Right." Hermione said quickly, "Yeah, right." She took a side step beside Ginny who closed the door behind Pansy who came in somewhat unwilling, looking around her strangely for a moment before folding her arms across herself.

"I..." She begun but then bit her tongue, deciding it was best not to speak so freely to people she considered to be her enemy, "What's happened?" It was a demand, but weak like Draco's threats anymore.

She seemed lost and out of the loop, so Harry assumed her parents weren't deatheaters and her being a deatheater was out of the question, her forearms were both exposed as she rolled up her sleeves and no markings could be made out, not even a faint scar.

"You don't know?" Harry asked blankly, almost monotonous.

"No, I don't. Does it make you happy?" She bit her tongue again, she wanted to yell and scream, _'He didn't tell me his parent's died, he didn't even tell me he was under the Weasley's care. I don't even understand why you'd be here, Potter. He left me totally in the dark when I'm the only one whose ever cared, and another thing, why are you here and not me? You know what? He never even said goodbye. So no, Potter, I don't know what the fuck is going on.'_

But she didn't.

She kept her teeth against the tip of her tongue, biting harder every time she came close to puking out the words from her throat in fiery angry bursts, or every time hot tears of frustration balled up beneath her eyes and left her eyeballs bobbing in her sockets like buoys, burning as the salty tears flooded her head and senses.

But she kept her composure.

She took a shaky breath and held herself tighter in her dark green sweater, placing her pea coat onto the coat stand along with her black and grey floral scarf.

"Harry." She said it plainly, the word was shocking like a five year old saying a curse word in public to Hermione and Ginny's ears, even Harry stopped breathing for a moment, "Please..." She whispered the plea simply, she'd lost everything in herself by this point, "...is he dead?"

She dropped the ball with a heavy heart, every syllable shaking on trembling cold lips.

"No." Harry said quickly, understanding the idea of fear- even if it was for Malfoy, "No, he's not."

She felt herself relax, attempting to catch her breath without being obvious she'd lost it.

"It's a lot to tell though." Harry said offhandedly, "I think Malfoy should be the one to tell you. When he's a little more..conscious..."

"He's unconscious?"

"Yes. He's been out since three am. Hasn't woke since."

"I have to see him." She replied, it wasn't a question, but a demand of absolution, as though it were impossible to deny her the rights.

"We should really warn you, "Ginny begun quietly, stepping forward, "Pansy, it's bad and I-."

Pansy shook inside, but was too strong to ask how bad, too strong to let a tear slip from her eye and show her humanity, but too weak of a woman to accept it.

"What would you know?" She said, "About _bad_? Worst injury you've ever had is from quidditch. Bludger to the arm. Am I right?" Her voice shook with misery, purpose, her hands clenched together, Ginny couldn't bring herself to respond, "Am I right?..._Right_. Where_ is_ he?"

Ginny pointed towards the hall next to the stairs, "In his parent's room."

Pansy looked down the long narrow hallway full of doors, and looked back to the three before her. She could hear footsteps from somewhere, getting louder, getting closer.

"You act like I've been here before." She said in a hopeless humor, which garnered her the confused expression of the three in the room, "You think I'm his girlfriend? You probably think we were betrothed with what stereotypes linger in your small minds."

"I'm_...sorry_, Pansy, it seemed like you..." Harry trailed awkwardly then gave up when he noticed Pansy was uninterested in the apology, "Anyway. Not important. I can take you to him."

"It'd be the sensible thing to do, I'm not the _whore_ he fetches in the night. I'm not his...his..._bitch_." Her words sliced through them, and she wrapped her arms around herself in an insecure fashion despite her bowed stance and perfect posture which should demand respect, but demanded the opposite from the three, "Now, take me to him."

"This way.." Harry whispered, beginning to walk down the hall, Pansy following with vengeful eyes and determination in every step she took.

Hermione was floored, but after taking a moment to bring herself back together, followed after the two alongside Ginny who'd been urging her to follow.

"Pansy, we never-...It just...It certainly seemed like you had a liking to him the way you two have been behaving this year." Hermione replied sternly, "We never said you were anything like you suggested."

"No, but you've thought about it, haven't you?" Pansy turned with fire in her venomous gaze, "You've gossiped about us and I _hear _what people say, I'm not deaf you know."

Harry stopped at a door at the end of the hallway, pressing his hand onto the knob, "He's in here."

Pansy prepared herself physically, mentally she could be crushed as long as no one around her _saw _her distasteful breakdown.

He opened it for her and Pansy pushed the door open herself. Footsteps came down the hall quietly, but she didn't even take the time to see who else was possibly in Malfoy Manor and didn't even entertain the possibility of this being a ruse to capture her.

Something in her told her that Potter was far too noble to do anything so sneaky and cunning, it was something she would do. Not him. Not a Gryffindor.

Her eyes took just a moment to adjust, but after a few seconds, saw the figure beneath the blankets, the rise and fall of his breath sending her into a calmer state of mind- knowing that he was indeed alive.

There was a deep musk in the air, like blood and something very distinct- it smelled the medical closet Lawrence snuck into in the medical wing. Lawrence Bigsby was a hopeless drug addict and snuck out small phials from a specific pantry every month or so as to go unnoticed by the scatterbrained Pomfrey. That smell hung in the air like a cloud, choking her nostrils at first, but with time, she got used to the scent and it faded away to the back of her mind like background noise.

She moved closer to the green silk bed, draped with similar material as the bed was dressed in. All around her was dark furniture- dark wardrobes and chairs, a vanity and bookcase. All oak with green trimmings and accents.

His face, when she got close enough to see it in the dim light of the lamp on the end table beside him, was exceptionally pale against the bruises and cuts. She saw the word written across what was once perfectly untouched skin and pushed a hand against her mouth, in case she should gasp and wake him.

She rounded the side of the bed, pulling away the blankets slowly, cautiously, with a certain degree of care only someone with love in their heart could do and looked at his blackened body, a ragged design of stitches decorating his skin like a war veteran, the word _'murderer' _etched into him more than four times, she was sure of it. She dropped the blankets, hands shaking and legs weak beneath her.

She strengthened herself at the creaking sound behind her.

She looked to the door to see Ginny shutting it behind herself, "I wanted to make sure you were okay. It's...a lot to take in."

Pansy didn't reply, but looked down to Draco's peaceful expression and then swallowed her own pride, something she'd held onto for a very long time.

She released a breath, then looked back to the innocent expression on the girl a year junior to herself. She released her anger and felt the fear overtake her. What sort of monster could've done this?

She held his limp wrist in her own, shaking. She wondered if she should turn it over, if the dark mark would look back at her? She'd denied it to herself for so long when she knew logically, this was the reason for his weird behavior- it was the _only _theory that made sense. If he'd refused the mark...he would've been dead or at least disowned.

But a deatheater at sixteen? Could it be true? But...Voldemort _was _desperate.

She turned the hand over with hesitation, eyeing his battered skin slowly then let her eyes hit the black ink stain. She dropped his wrist instantly.

"My hate for you isn't personal, you know." She said quietly, stifling her sob with these words, but they were something so sudden, Ginny was in shock the moment the words had left her mouth, "I just love him." She said this as though it were an extension of her previous sentence, like an explanation.

Ginny looked at her confused and took a step forward, awaiting anything more.

"I thought _he_ hated_ you_, and all I wanted...I only wanted to impress him and get his attention. It just ended up _repulsing_ him. Don't misinterpret me, I _was_ taught to hate your kind, but I just find myself..._unfazed_ by all you most of the time. If you weren't so concerned with being perfect, I think we could be tolerant of each other...maybe in other circumstances we would've been..." She couldn't bring herself to say anymore.

"I'm far from perfect."

"But far from_ imperfect_ just as well." She replied quickly, looking up to her with a razor gaze, "You can't understand what it means to be told your perfect but wonder if you're everything but. You couldn't." She paused momentarily, then looked back to Draco, "He _doesn't_ love me you know, and I pretended to stop caring if he reciprocated my feelings last summer." Her eyes flashed pain in them somewhere deep inside, behind a rocky wall of rough callous anger, "Don't think I'm being friendly, I'm telling you this out of necessity."

"It hurt didn't it?" Ginny's mind flashed back to a time she'd seen Harry eyeing Cho Chang, before he'd become wise to her feelings towards him and before he'd felt the same way. It was painful, soul wrenching, like a deatheater taking all the happiness and joy and color from your world.

Pansy appeared dumbfounded, her eyes lost control of the situation and panic fled through her as she searched, mentally, for a comeback. "At first." She replied dryly, devoid of anything more than truth, "But the first week of school this year, he spoke to me personally- something I didn't think he'd ever do. It was late at night and I was the only one up in the common room. He sat down beside me and we were silent for a while. Then he just started talking and instead of worrying what he thought of me for once, I spoke to him like I would anyone."

"That's a good start." Ginny said somewhat awkwardly, though if this was what it took to remain at peace within the house, then it was what it took. As much as she disliked the Slytherin, she'd felt the same way about Draco not too long ago. Being a truly good person extended beyond a set comfort zone, she knew this from her mother and the times she'd deflected the harsh words of regal families in Diagon Alley as they went school shopping.

"No. He won't ever have romantic feelings towards me. I'm his friend. Nothing much else."

"Why're you telling me all this?" It was an innocent question, one purely out of curiosity and utter defeat for anything more to say, "You said it was necessity, but..."

Pansy turned her head towards Draco then back to her and released a breath.

"As much as I'd love to live the lie people are telling, it is what it is: a lie. And_ though_ I'd rather _self-immolate_ than explain this to you, it hurts every _damn_ time people ask if we're together and I have to tell them _'no'. _It get's tiring when all I'd like to do is tell them _'yes'_."

"Why don't you tell him how you feel then?"

"Because." Pansy said plainly, looping a piece of brown hair around a finger absentmindedly, she wanted to say, _'killing what we have now would kill me.' _But instead chose brief silence. "Leave me alone with him."

Ginny was familiar with Pansy's directness and turned away, opening the door and entering the group outside the door with a plain expression, one opposite of the many questions circling in her head.

Pansy looked down to Draco for a moment and moved the cover slightly from his arm, taking his hand into her own with careful consideration, bringing it to her cheek and letting the tears flow freely down like a slithering snake, trailing its way down his hand, his arm, and finally died on the bed sheets.

Outside, Ginny faced the questioning whispers of the others and when they asked how she took it, Ginny said she was strong.

A very strong woman.

* * *

Pansy turned out to be what was expected, an extremely cold and unsociable person. At least, that's what she came off as and no one could truly blame her with what the circumstances were- in fact, Harry had expected much worse. They all had.

Pansy's cynical personality never went under an extreme change, it only became darker and more personal. As a younger girl, she'd been boy crazy, ignorant and snobby. Now before them was a more grown woman, mature in speech and coal black in soul. Her humor had become coarser, her words dryer, her sarcasm stronger, her defenses fortified to steel.

Questions were more or less deflected, otherwise, if she chose to answer, they were answered with little detail and bitter honesty.

She sat in the living room adjacent to the foyer with her head propped on a single hand, looking longingly at the bedroom she'd just retreated from with half the composure she'd walked in with.

She was regaining it quickly, forming an even thicker wall than before and cooling her emotions to a subtle anger that could be sensed in the air, so they left her mostly to herself.

"You know." Pansy begun quietly in the middle of a conversation the Weasley's were having, her voice suggesting something dark, "There was this time I came here, to Malfoy Manor. It was the first time I came and the only other time. I was fourteen. My parents were meeting with the Crabbe's, Goyle's, and Malfoy's and a few other families. When we got here, Draco refused to speak to anyone and I couldn't figure out if it was just because he hated me or if he was in one of his moods. But it turned out he was obsessing. Do you know he obsesses? Oh, he's awful..." Pansy mumbled into her hand, trailing off, and then came back around, "Well. He was obsessing about something. It was quidditch this time- he was obsessing about a loss between himself and you, Harry. He was so violently obsessed with this one game you two played, he _wouldn't_ come off it."

"Which game?" Harry furthered, slightly curious as to what could be so controversial that Draco would obsess over such a thing on a holiday.

Pansy looked at him with the corner of her eye in both surprise and suspicion.

" I thought you would know. He's never told me about that game...never will I suspect."

Harry became silent, mulling over the quidditch game's they'd played at fourteen and couldn't think of one wrong move he'd done, one rule he'd broken. But then again, this came from the boy who was furious over embarrassing _himself_ by _provoking_ a magical creature- he was never good with dealing with humiliation. He could've easily done something to set him off and send him into a rage, especially at fourteen. It could've been something as simple as snatching the snitch from him in front of his team.

It would've been easy.

"I don't have any idea." Harry replied thoughtfully, then after another second, shrugged "I dunno."

"Hmph." Pansy looked back again to the hallway, the length furthering and furthering in her eyesight every few seconds.

Mrs. Weasley entered the room with a platter of cookies, setting them onto the table, steam rising from their gooey dough matrix, "Cookies?"

"Thanks, Mum!" Fred and George yelled simultaneously, reaching quickly for the same chocolate-loaded cookie.

In the background, Pansy could hear quiet bickering about who'd touched the cookie first and some laughing but all she could hear in her own mind was Draco's voice, the first time he'd spoke to her like a human.

Sitting there at the fire place, staring distantly into the red fire. He sat beside her making a ghostly presence beside her. He didn't even look at her. She didn't look at him. They were both tired of feeling the things they felt, so it was gone and they were just two humans sitting in a room on a couch beside each other. Tired and confused- but too tired to continue wondering and questioning and...

"I'm to be a Death Eater...and if I refuse, He will kill them."

He spoke in a dark tone, one that trembled beneath the crack of fire and was air-like in the winds that entered through the chimney.

"Who?"

"My parents."

"Are you scared?"

"...Malfoy's aren't scared."

"What if you're last name wasn't Malfoy?"

"Then I'd be scared."

"What happens then?"

"I don't know."

"Hm. Will you do it?"

"If I don't...they die."

"Then you will."

"I...don't know."

"...Why're you talking to _me_ about to this?"

"...Crabbe and Goyle are cretins."

"I thought I was too."

You're different now."

"You are just as much different as I am. Are you cold?"

"Why?"

"You're shivering."

"I didn't notice. I must be."

"Are you...? You're crying, Draco."

"Malfoy's don't cry."

"Well, pretend you're not a Malfoy."

"...Impossible."

She embraced him suddenly in a quick and gentle manner, it was spur of the moment and just an impulse she reacted to. She held him in this way for a second before she felt his cold hands slowly slide up her legs.

She pulled herself away from him, she gave him a blank look and shook her head.

"Don't. You don't love me. You want control over something."

"Last year you begged for this."

"I want your love. Not your lust."

"What if I do love you?"

"You don't."

He pulled his hands back slowly.

"I..." He begun.

"Malfoy's don't apologize." She ended.

Pansy remembered that night vividly. They'd sat together in silence for most of the night after that. The world was changing and they were both scared of the changes. After that, they'd never discussed that night again. He'd been out of wits in panic, in fear, and on the brink of insanity, so what was there to discuss? That wasn't Draco Malfoy. That was another entity that made the rarest of appearances to her.

Pansy surfaced from the memory at the sudden movement in the hallway. She looked back to the Weasley family that had more than halved since the last time she'd paid any mind to the current residents of the home. Harry and Ron were left sitting beside each other talking about something quietly.

Pansy looked back to the hallway and stood at the sight of him, barely clothed, stitched and bruised, standing in the hall and taking slow deliberate steps.

"Draco.." She murmured, fingers brushing down her lips as she pulled her head out from her hand.

The two boys ceased speaking and looked towards the boy coming down the hall slowly.

"Pansy?" Draco looked to the couch opposite of where she was sitting.

"Malfoy, you shouldn't be up." Harry said standing up and putting his hands into his pockets , "You're feeling alright, then?"

"Mrs...Weasley's potion is very _effective_." Draco murmured, moving his shivering hand across his sweaty forehead, "Thank you...for getting Pansy..."

"Right." Harry cleared his throat, "Well. You're Welcome." Harry replied, giving a single nod, "But...why don't you come have a seat or something?"

"Draco..." Pansy whispered, turning from him just as he opened his mouth to speak, "...look what they've done to you." She stood now, moving towards Draco, swallowing, "Who did it?"

She held him by the arm gently, careful not to touch a single stitching.

"Potter, get Granger." Draco replied quickly, blinking back the hazy confusion that fought to overtake him a few times between every word, "She was right. About the passages."

Harry gave him a look, "What?"

What, was the word that had come from Harry's mouth, but all Draco could make out was a static-like noise and a sudden dizziness that overthrew any other sense. His nerves tingled and his head felt as if it were full of fluid.

"Juh..juh-just...Gret..Ganger..." Draco murmured before the world slipped from his view and everything went black.


End file.
